


Into the Spider-Verse One Shots

by Xoxo_Sadie21



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Hmmmmmm angst, but anyways, enjoy all that i have to offer, i am the angst queen kneel before me you peasants, i like writing fluff too, it always turns into angst so, sometimes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-10-14 23:04:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 36,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17517512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xoxo_Sadie21/pseuds/Xoxo_Sadie21
Summary: this is the last part to this! i hope you all forgive me for what you are about to read. just remember i love you :'))





	1. Serendipity(Part 1) | RIPeter

You liked to think you lived an ordinary life. Well, as ordinary as ordinary could get. You worked at a local bookstore and were the proud owner of it. Ownership came at a price which meant you were always working, always keeping yourself busy with day-to-day things such as paying bills, tending to your store, cleaning your store, and overall, just watching over it.

You were  _always_ in that store.

Even when you were supposed to be attending your niece’s talent show. After telling your sister that you wouldn’t be able to make it to the show, you instantly began to feel bad. You had promised your niece that you would make it there, but work was low on staff and everything was falling apart– you just wanted a break. Just one bloody break.

Being the owner of a particularly popular bookstore was nothing of a hindrance– no– it could never be.

Your niece would just have to find the time to forgive you because you also promised your parents that you would take care of the store until you couldn’t anymore. When they passed, you were left with nothing of a reminder from them except the memories that came with being their daughter. Other than that, you got to take over the family business. Simple as that. You knew the ropes, you knew that there wasn’t anything that could possibly keep you from this place. Sometimes you even slept there; it happened to be whenever you were too in a financial rut, when you couldn’t pay for the bills. Or perhaps it was because you just missed them. It smelled enough of them to ease your melancholy for the night. 

You glanced at the watch on your hand and heaved a sigh. It read:  **1:15 P.M.** Time was not on your side today.

As time ticked by, exhaustion started to overwhelm your senses. Customers happily walked up to buy or rent their chosen books and then they left, yet you stayed rooted to your spot, occasionally letting one of your employees take over if need be.

The next time you looked down at your watch it read  **4:25 P.M.** You wanted to curse the bloody universe or time itself for taking so damn long. A distraction would have been nice– they happened all the time in New York, why couldn’t one happen now?

**6:30 P.M.**

Just as the remaining customers began to leave the shop, and you began to clean up, a familiar and distant noise caught your attention.

_PING!_

You jerked your head over to the sound, eyes locking on your cell phone that sat beside the cash register. With sluggish movements, you walked over to your phone and picked it up. It was a text message from your sister.

**Sister Dearest**

_Are you alright?? I saw the news._

Read at 6:32 P.M.

Your brows furrowed and you quickly typed back a reply. 

_What’s on the news?_

Sent at 6:33 P.M.

Everything was tranquil at the moment, nothing seemed to be happening. Plus, you were sure that if something  _were_  to happen, you’d most likely be right in the middle of it. Not that something has happened to you before. You just knew that whenever there was trouble, Spider-Man seemed to swoop in to save the day. He always showed up just before the panic could escalate further. 

You admired him. 

_PING!_

As soon as you glanced at your phone, something crashed through the roof of your building. It happened so close and right in the middle of your shop. Shock registered through you abruptly within a matter of milliseconds, and you stumbled backward as plywood flung in just about every direction. Your back smacked against the hard surface of the wall that connected to your office, an audible  _oof_  slipping past your lips. Without realizing it, your phone fell from your hand then skidded across the floor, landing feet away from you. Your sister’s message was still on read and remained unanswered. 

Lifting your head, you examined your surroundings, noticing that your shop was completely destroyed. A lump formed in your throat and sadness dared to confiscate your will to peek over the edge of the counter. And you would have stayed that way if it weren’t for the sound of someone groaning or the rummaging of plywood. 

Like a small child, you peeked over the top of the counter, your head barely darting out in view. Almost immediately, you spotted a red and blue heap underneath a pile of debris which in return had your heart plummeting down to the pit of your stomach. 

_Seriously?_

“Oh, come on, Doc!” He groaned, trying to dig himself out of the piled mess of wood and debris. He struggled for a minute, grunting every few seconds while the screams of concerned and terrified civilians echoed on the streets outside. “Throwing people through buildings is  _not okay!_  Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?”

Gulping from the sheer panic that had slowly risen into your chest, you backpedaled quietly. Before you could even get close to your office, your foot caught on a lingering piece of plywood, and you tripped over it, landing ungraciously on your ass. 

“ _Ouch_.” 

Due to your clumsiness, the eyes of your unexpected guest darted over to you in a frenzy. Your mouth went dry, and from your position, you could see the lenses of his mask twitching and resizing sporadically. 

“Uh, hi?” 

Awkward tension filled the air all the while he just stared at you, unmoving and bewildered. Did he not know you were in here? You thought his spidey senses would have warned him.

“You’re Spider-Man,” you pushed yourself up from the floor, your limbs– specifically your ass– aching in the process.

He seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in when you moved to stand ten feet from him. “Are you hurt? How long have you been in here?” He pressed as the struggle to set himself free from the heap became more desperate. Through it all, you noticed that his eyes never wavered from you. 

When he finally managed to remove himself from the mess, he stood up and cleared his throat. It was then you noticed a small patch of his mask was ripped on the right side, showing his slightly bruised cheek and revealing his eye.

“No major damage done, but  _ah_ , you  _did_  just destroy my shop,” you joked, biting the inside of your cheek as you watched him establish his surroundings. A warm amusement shadowed across your face, but as soon as the words left your lips, his face dropped and he exhaled harshly.  Immediately, you felt awful for even saying it.  _Time to dig yourself out of this whole_. “It’s not a big deal– I mean, of course, it is, but– it’s–” you paused when he groaned, his lips parted in a silent apology. You mumbled shyly all the while his gaze was fixated on you, “It’s easily fixable. Don’t worry about it.” 

It was not easily fixable. You didn’t know where you were going to find the money to afford such supplies to repair this place. 

A huge chunk of metal was hurled into a nearby vehicle outside your shop– you could see it perfectly through the glass doors– and you flinched. You watched as Spider-Man hurriedly turned to catch his enemy tearing apart the block, his shoulders tense. 

He glanced back around at you, and from the small opening over his right eye, you could tell that they were wide. “I’m really sorry,” he apologized, and your heart soared at the gentle roughness of it. He looked like he wanted to say more, but he needed to focus on the fight. 

“It’s fine,” you waved your hand, feeling heat absorb your cheeks. “Go be a hero, Spider-Man.” 

He breathed out a laugh and the sound immediately created tingles over the surface of your skin. He held one hand to his forehead and gave you a salute. “Yes, Ma’am.” 

You inhaled through your nose and released a quivering breath, watching with awe as he shot a web outwards and disappeared whilst taking the fight away from you. 

It was safe to say that you went home that night feeling a little less worried. Something told you that it wouldn’t be the last time you’d be seeing the red-masked hero of Queens. You couldn’t get the sound of his laugh out of your head or how it was so much nicer to see him in person and somewhat up-close. He made an impression on you despite destroying your shop– the one thing that actually kept you from collapsing from stress. Although, you had to admit that, even with circumstances as huge as yours, he still managed to render you starstruck. He was, in every sense of the word,  _spectacular_. 

The next morning you woke up and wondered if the events of last night had actually happened and weren’t some dream. Sure, it wasn’t as traumatizing, but you got to interact with the superhero of Queens! It wasn’t something that was on your bucket list, but it was thrilling, to say the least. Meeting Spider-Man made you realize that miracles could happen. You couldn’t help but realize that if you hadn’t have stayed at the shop, and actually went to see your niece’s play, then you wouldn’t have met Spider-Man. 

Fate. It had to be fate as cliche as that sounds, and you weren’t one for cliches. You were the realist, the one who thought out all of the possibilities– the ones that made sense. 

Unfortunately, that still wasn’t enough to help your mind ease from the truth. 

And the truth was that: Spider-Man had definitely destroyed your book shop. 

When you arrived at work, walking in through the back because it was a routine, you noticed that not only was the door unlocked but also that you weren’t alone. 

Instincts kicking in, you picked up a crowbar– which you didn’t think you had– and tiptoed very carefully into the front of the shop. The voices became louder the further you reached your destination, and they were starting to sound harmless. 

You dropped the crowbar once your eyes took in the twenty or so hardworking men. Each had a job, some paired up while others barked out orders. The entire vicinity was filled with tools, supplies, men using ladders to fix something, others using measuring tapes. They walked in with more tools and walked back out just to bring another required tools back in. 

“Um, excuse me?”

The men continued to work as you stepped further inside the chaotic circle. No one looked over at you; it had been exceptionally loud, so you weren’t too offended. 

“Hello!” You held up your hand, hoping it would catch their attention that time. 

A man, who looked to be at least twenty years older than you, walked over as the men worked harder, your sudden call to attention fading into background noise. He smiled at you and held out his hand for you to shake. “Are you (Name)?” You didn’t say anything, merely shaking his hand out of pure civility then nodding to stake your identity. He beamed, letting go of your hand. “I’m Warren Tyson, I work with Stark Construction.” 

At the mention of the name, your eyes went round. First, there was the shock, and then it slowly but surely sank into your chest. Realization dawned on you, despite the confusion that lingered. 

“Stark?” Your mouth was agape. 

He nodded, “Yeah. I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, we just do everything our boss asks us to,” he gestured to the workplace around you. 

And that’s when the panic occurred, steady and lurking. “I– I don’t have the money to pay you for this. I don’t–”

“That won’t be a problem, Miss (Last name). It’s already taken care of.”

You exhaled slowly, brows creasing with even more confusion. “By whom?”

Instead of giving you an answer, he simply grinned back as if he knew a secret. When you tried to ask him again, he walked off, leaving you bewildered, struck with the inconvenience of the unknown. 

“ _Okay_  then.” 

Minutes drug by, and you began to feel like you should be helping. The men had already moved on from working on the roof, and now they were just trying to help rebuild the books and the shelves that distributed them. Surely they wouldn’t mind if you just started to make yourself useful, right?

Sighing out of defeat, you walked over and started to pick up books and set them on their shelves. You continued to help even when the men gave you weird looks, yet it was comforting to know you could help someone voluntarily without feeling like you were forced to. You always liked helping people, your parents always told you it was what defined you for who you were. 

As the clock ticked by and the hours of hard labored work dreaded on without much difficulty, you were willing for the work to be finished. When your internal command was met, you felt the entirety of the world’s worry shift from your shoulders. 

It was time to re-open shop. 

So, as you thanked the men for their hard work and they gave you thankful grins. You flipped the sign from  _closed_  to  _open_  and walked over to stand behind your counter. Giving your shop a once-over, you were surprised to see a note beside your cash register. It poked out from underneath it, catching the majority of your attention. 

You reached for it and pulled it all the way out, taking in the noticeably scribbled handwriting. Something fluttered in your chest when you read it over, eyes scanning with fascination. 

_You never told me you owned this place. I guess if we had more time to chat, you probably would have. Also, I’m sorry I destroyed your shop, you have every right to despise me, but if I’m being completely honest, it would suck if you did. You’re really pretty. I’m going to regret writing that, but it’s totally worth it._

_I hope you don’t mind the extra help. I just couldn’t sleep knowing I wrecked your shop. I know I’m probably coming off as a suck-up, but I really need you to forgive me._

_Please, forgive me._

_Sincerely,_

_Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man_.

By the time you were done reading the note, your cheeks were on fire and your chest was strained with suppressed giddiness. You bit your lip, holding back the urge to giggle out of pure levity. You touched your cheek, feeling hot, extremely hot– this was all his fault. The damn superhero was in every way charming and he knew it. 

There was no way you  _couldn’t_  forgive him. 

Just as you heard the familiar jingle above the shop doors, you tucked the piece of paper into your pocket and relished in the sweet, sweet sentiment. 

And unbeknownst to you, a certain Spider sat perched on a rooftop, watching a smile blossom onto your cheeks with a crooked grin of his own.

When the night was over and you were well rested, you walked back into work with a permanent grin etched across your face. You greeted your customers with ebullience, a once in a lifetime sort of demeanor, one you rarely used. It was a good day. 

It had been a long while since you felt that way. Having such a lasting solicitude made you feel better about yourself. 

You were reorganizing some of the books when you heard a jingle. Without moving your focus from the stack of books in front of you, you spoke. “Morning! Let me know if you need any help.” You received no immediate answer, and quickly tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. 

As you slid the last book into it’s desired place, a voice so undeniably soft and anxious captured your attention with a muttered,  _Hello_.

“How may I help y–” You turned around to face the customer, but was suddenly caught off guard by the utter, raw beauty before you. Blue captivating eyes, a slightly defined yet crooked nose in the center of his face, little stubble that shadowed around his chin and mouth, and tousled, dirty blond hair that made you want to run your fingers through it. He wore an army green coat over a plain black v-neck that showed off his attractive collarbones and faded blue jeans. 

Realizing that you had been staring, you cleared your throat, letting the moment pass, leaving behind the exception of your burning cheeks.

Your stomach fluttered and you inhaled sharply. Was he a model or something? He sure looked like one– matter of fact, he looked like something out of a romance novel.

He gave you a beaming smile, a single dimple puncturing his right cheek as he stuffed his hands into his front pockets. You could’ve sworn that you felt your soul leave your body.

“H-Hi. Did you, uh, did you need any help?” You managed through your daze.

“Um…” His eyes went big and he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. As if he didn’t think you would’ve asked that question, he scanned the shelves on either side of him, nervousness stretching across his face. “Yeah!” He reached for a book and then held it out for you, “I wanna buy this,” his face reddened, “Please.”

You looked down at it, giggling softly before looking back up at him through long lashes. “Fifty Shades of Grey?” 

Of course, he just  _had_  to choose the most inappropriate book in the shop.

His cheeks turned a bright crimson and his lips parted as he tried to think of something to say and to save him the embarrassment, you gave him a reassuring smile, that certainly reached your eyes, and giggled once more. “Let me just ring this up for you,” you turned around quickly, hoping he couldn’t see just how flustered you were. There wasn’t anything more embarrassing than having someone catch you interacting to the instance that made you that way, to begin with. “So, are you new here? I don’t think you’ve ever come in before.” You inquired as you moved to stand behind the counter, eyes glued to your task, though you could feel his attention on you, unwavering as if the words that flew from your mouth were the most intriguing thing in the whole universe. 

When it seemed too quiet, you finally looked up and were met with the same red-faced, dazed expression from before. In return you were able to feel the tightening in your chest twist, causing your mouth to go momentarily dry. 

As if your blatant staring was the key to snapping him out of whatever half-comatose state he was in, he shook his head and blinked rapidly. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” 

You wanted to chuckle out loud by how unbelievably obvious he had been in his infatuation. It wasn’t difficult to place– he was curious by you, at least, that’s what you  _thought_. Could there be any other reason? 

Instead of asking the same question, you merely grinned in your mirth and scanned the bar-code on the side of the book.  _Instead_ , you turned on your charm– or what little charm you had– and summoned up the more flirtatious side of you. He was handsome–  _adorable_ , even– there wasn’t any way you were going to let this perfect opportunity pass up. 

“You like reading these type of books?” You offered with a sly grin, the corners of your lips curling upward in a playful gesture. 

His eyes were the size of baseballs, and if he weren’t the brightest shade of red earlier, he was now. “It’s actually for my– my aunt. Yeah, she loves reading these books.” He was quick on his feet, you had to give him that. With furrowed brows, he watched as your pace slowed down slightly as if you were preserving time. “I heard about the crash two nights ago– must’ve been a terrifying experience to be caught in the middle of it all.” 

His heart skipped a beat when your face dropped. 

You shook your head and bagged the book, eyes finally reaching his. “No,” you pursed your lips, handing him the bag and then continuing to shrug right after. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I do get a lot of panic attacks,” your focus drifted and you went to fiddle with the sleeve of your shirt. “But I wasn’t alone.” 

“You weren’t?” 

Your eyes flew up to meet his, but shying away when you noticed the absolute curiosity shimmering in the depths of his oceanic blue orbs. “Nah, Spider-Man was there,” you mumbled, feeling your stomach burst with that childlike giddiness you endured at the thought of him. A rush of butterflies consumed your stomach and you inhaled. “He was…” you looked up at your customer, his eyes wide and somewhat hopeful. “Incredible. I mean to see him do his job up close? I was in shock and it usually takes a lot for me to reach that level of sheer anticipation– it’s almost like feeling fear and excitement all at the same time.” 

“Must’ve been one fascinating introduction,” he whispered as his eyes softened along with his entire face. 

“Fascinating? Maybe.” You pondered, the elation in your eyes mirroring the goofy expression upon your face. Clearing your throat, you looked back over to your customer, observing the now veneering expression clouding his face when merely seconds ago there was a certain awe-struck fragility shining in his eyes. “Anyways,” you gave a lighthearted laugh, now noticing the crumpled up dollar bills on the counter beside your cellphone. “I hope your aunt knows what she’s getting herself into with that book. It’s pretty colorful if I do say so myself.” 

It was meant to come off as a joke, and in no way was it supposed to sound as inappropriate as it had, but once the words were out there was no taking them back.

He laughed, giving you a crooked grin. “Ah, well I’ll make sure she knows.” 

“Great,” you gave him a toothy smile, and subconsciously tucked another strand of your hair behind your ear. It was a habit. “I hope you have a good rest of your day… um–”

“Oh, Peter,” he said quickly, holding out his hand for you to shake. The color in his cheeks darkened when you slipped your fingers through his, interlocking them with a lingering tenderness. “Peter Parker.” 

“(Name) (Last name),” you nodded, the blithe you felt previously now twice as strong. “I hope to see you again, Peter.” 

You remained a professional exterior, something your parents taught you before they passed. It was welcoming to know that despite your fondness for the man before you, you still knew how to keep your career before all else. The only exception to that was only if your heart was no longer yours. Being the hopeless romantics your parents were, they liked to remind you that a love like theirs was hard to find, and if you found it one day then you had to make sure you kept it.

With a lingering glance, he finally managed to turn around and walk away, but halfway to reaching the exit, he stopped. You noticed this and held your breath. Something stirred inside your stomach, a wonderful fuzzy feeling as if you were re-living your first actual crush. 

“Wait!” He swiveled around and quickly walked back over to you. “Can I get your number by any chance?” 

Bold of him, you examined with a waning grin. 

Without giving him a verbal reply, you reached for a pen. That same shyness you bored for the cutie in front of you resurfaced when you urged him to hold out his hand. He fulfilled your silent request with an adorable doe-eyed expectancy that made your body tingle. 

As he laid his hand in the palm of yours, you felt your cheeks grow hot with a glowing radiance and then scribbled down your number in black ink. 

You watched him leave your shop with a lovesick expression and waited for the time he would message you. 

It was nearing just  **6:30 P.M**. when you heard the familiar  _ping_ sound coming from your cellphone. There wasn’t a dim feeling in your body when you unceremoniously rushed over to check who it could be. Admittedly, you were hoping it was the bashful flirt from earlier. 

**_New Message!_ **

From: Unknown Number

_Hey, it’s Peter! :D_

Read at 6:31 P.M.

A smile so wide stretched across your cheeks and you hid your giggles through biting on your fingernails. 

You quickly typed out your reply with trembling fingers. 

_What’s up!_

No– that’s too bland. You didn’t want to come off boring. Lord knows you have many experiences of the like throughout your years as a massively obnoxious teenager. 

You pressed the backspace button and re-typed your reply. 

_Hiya! Did your aunt like the book??_

Sent at 6:32 P.M.

It was times like these when you missed having your mother’s two-sense to boost your usually deflated ego. Never were you the best flirt or a conversational person in general. It took practice to keep a conversation going– practice you didn’t have or refused to have because you always preferred to keep to yourself. 

Yet with Peter, it was different. You didn’t think you’d leave your shell so soon. 

After you added his number into your contacts, you waited patiently for his reply. Keeping yourself busy when his messages came back just a little bit too later than they previously had. 

**From: Peter**

_I’m gonna be honest with you… I didn’t get the book for her._

Read at 6:37 P.M.

_I knew it! You got it for yourself, didn’t you? ;)_

Sent at 6:38 P.M.

You found out that, naturally, he just wanted to talk to you. He was extremely curious. That was all he told you on the subject, but you were glad he did. 

The rest of the night went by exceptionally mellow. You spent it texting back and forth with Peter while binge-watching one of your favorite shows on Netflix. And when it neared midnight, you wished you hadn’t felt so tired. 

As you laid in bed, snug underneath your blankets, you let your mind wander over to the ridiculous crush you had on Spider-Man. Even if your encounter with him was short, a part of you seemed to like the idea of falling for the red-masked superhero of Queens. 

Yet nothing was more toxic than falling in love with someone like that. 

You tried clearing your thoughts; it had been a while since Peter last messaged you. Matter of fact, it’d been almost two hours, and you still couldn’t force your body to shut down to rest. So, you watched the twinkling fairy lights that hung from your bedroom ceiling and waited for the moment your body would get the signal to relax. 

Right when your eyes began to flutter from the sudden wave of exhaustion, your phone beeped from its place on your nightstand. 

**From: Peter**

_(Name)?_

You lethargically typed back your reply.

_Yes?_

Not even two minutes later, your screen brightened with a message. 

 _Go to the carnival with me tomorrow night_.

A beaming smile broke out across your face and nervous excitement bubbled within your chest. 

_Peter Parker, are you asking me out on a date?_

A date. Something you haven’t been on in a while. The last time you had made yourself available was months before your parent’s accident, and ever since, you vowed to always protect your heart from shattering. 

_PING!_

**From: Peter**

_Would you say yes if I were?_

After a minute or two of just blankly staring at your screen, you told yourself that if you were to get your heart broken by anyone, Peter Parker would be the only exception. 

_Wouldn’t miss it for the world._

Tomorrow. Today was  _tomorrow_. It was the day you would go on your date with Peter. 

 _Was it too soon?_ Your mind was on overdrive. One part of you knew that this was going to be the best date in history, yet the other half of you was dreading it. You tended to mess things up, at least, you tended to mess up the good things in your life. Peter was a good thing even despite only knowing him for one whole day. 

He was different; there was something about him that lured you in. Something mysterious that you have yet to figure out. You could honestly say that you were living a life right out of a novel. Or a really poorly written fanfiction. 

 _It’s too soon_. 

 _Definitely too soon_ , you thought as you eyed yourself in the full-length mirror in front of you. 

“Normal women would wear a dress to a carnival, (Name).” You stuck your hands into the pockets of your faded blue overalls– your mother’s old ones– and gave a half-twirl. “You. You are  _not_ normal.” 

You took a deep breath and exhaled nervously before running your hands through the little ringlets you created with your curling iron a mere twenty minutes ago. Something about this outfit made you feel like you were going to stand out tonight, even more so being surrounded by other people. 

“Yeah right,” you huffed and clicked your black and white converse together. “You look like someone who was forced to act normal for once and just gave up altogether.” 

You glared heatedly at your reflection, face clear of any makeup and visible for the world to see just how exhausted you truly were.  _Great_. Peter was going to see right through it– he was going to see  _right through you_. 

“Just act like a human. It’s easy. You’re a human. Pete’s a human…” as if you had no control over any part of your body, the most daydreamy look erupted across your face. “He’s ethereal… he doesn’t even look real. He’s–”

_Knock. Knock._

The sudden noise provoked a surprised squeal out of you and you jumped, heart racing from the interruption. Was it 6:30, already? He was definitely early– he just had to be. There was no way he was  _exactly_  on time. 

Giving yourself one last once-over, you decided that this would have to be it. You would wear the one thing you really felt comfortable in, and if Peter didn’t like it then– well, you hoped he would. 

Skipping to your front door, you stood on your tiptoes and peeked through the peephole. When you saw Peter standing there looking as incredible as ever, you hummed in approval; the man was a  _God_. He wore a flannel which was buttoned up, safe for the first two that unconcealed his utterly attractive collarbones once again, and another pair of blue jeans. 

How could he make the simplest of outfits look so damn enchanting? It’s like he didn’t even have to try. 

However, here you stood with an outfit you criticized for fifteen minutes. 

“Pete? You’re early.” You called out through the door, hoping he would hear you. 

Startled, he glanced up to where the peephole was and your cheeks instantly felt warm. “I hope that’s okay,” he offered, running his fingers through his hair. He cleared his throat, “I’m a very impatient man.” 

“Fair enough,” you laughed. “Just– give me a minute, okay?” 

He nodded, cheeks bright with embarrassment. 

As nervous energy consumed your bones, you took a wobbly step towards the mirror and examined yourself once more.  _Just go for it, you pussy_. You rolled your eyes and smoothed out your overalls before grabbing your keys that hung precariously on the key rack beside the mirror. You conjured up just about every last bit of your courage and opened the door. 

There he stood, as handsome as ever, and here you stood. You looked fucking  _ridiculous_ , and Peter– he was just ridiculously  _hot_ , that’s all there was to it. 

Nonetheless, he still gazed at you as if you were the most beautiful star in the galaxy. 

“Wow,” he breathed, eyes shimmering with affection. “You– you look–”

“Pathetic, I know.” You laughed, a gentle lightheartedness coating your words. 

“No! No, I was going to say  _adorable_.” He commented as a warm amusement glinted in his unearthly blue eyes. 

Your heart soared and you bit your lip, “Really?” He nodded. “Well, you don’t look too bad yourself, Parker.” As if you were just taking time to fully observe him, you noticed a large cut across his eyebrow and the smaller bruise covering the entirety of his left cheek. You stepped closer and touched it, pulling your hand back when he flinched. “What happened?” 

He waved off your obvious concern, “It’s nothing. Just fell… slightly.” 

“Slightly?” You wondered, voice uncertain. He gave you a nod while avoiding your eyes, yet you found it extremely difficult to erase the cuts and bruises from your memory.

You didn’t know Peter well enough to question his motives, so you’d leave it be. For now. 

When you arrived at the carnival, the lights from the various rides suddenly reminded you of all the other times your parents took you here. It was warm outside thankfully, so you thought it was cute when Peter grabbed an extra coat. You didn’t question him, but you knew he only brought it for your benefit. 

“The lights…” you whispered, awe-struck. “They’ve gotten brighter since the last time I was here.” 

In your peripherals, you noticed him glance over at you in the middle of speaking. Tingles erupted across your skin when his attention never wavered from the side of your face. 

“When was the last time you came here?” 

You froze, not necessarily wanting to divulge on the topic, yet still feeling the need to let your friendship with Peter grow. The only way for that to happen was for you to open up to him. 

Was it too soon? 

_Definitely, but who cared?_

Well, you did, but–

“(Name)?” Peter’s fingers brushed against yours, curling around them with hesitance and then successfully interlacing them altogether. You hummed and he blushed a deep scarlet as your eyes refused to meet his. He opened his mouth to ask you something, but you suddenly cut him off. 

“Take me to the top of the Ferris wheel first, and then we’ll talk about our pasts like they do in the rom-com movies.” 

He took you to the very top. 

The city lights of Queens overlooked the rest of the carnival below, and it was the most beautiful view. Well, the  _second_  most beautiful view, you thought as you glanced at Peter. His eyes were unfocused and glazed over as he stared ahead, wringing his hands together as if he were in deep thought. 

“My parents…” You started. 

“They died, didn’t they?” His voice turned somber, focus never drifting from the view ahead. 

“It was a car accident,” your voice lowered, chest feeling unbearably heavy. “You know the whole drunk driver bit, spinning out of control, hitting them head-on.” 

He stayed silent, eyes finally flashing over to you just as you turned away. You were too distracted by your thoughts that you hadn’t noticed his fingers reaching out for yours, sudden desperation at its peak. 

A guttural sound crawled up his throat, “How old were you?” 

“Twenty-one.” You mumbled, sliding your hands underneath your thighs to warm them up. The weather had drastically changed from mildly humid to a slight chilling breeze. “They were on their way to see me,” you added then sniffling as your nose turned a bright red from the cold air. You held your breath then released it. “It was–”

“ _Not your fault_.” He said softly before you felt something moderately heavy drape across your shoulders. A warmth filled you within milliseconds and that’s when you noticed that he took off his jacket– since he left the other one back in his truck– and used his to keep you from getting too cold. 

“It’s not easy to admit it to myself,” you hummed, leaning your head on his shoulder without thinking anything of it. He tensed underneath you, but your head was everywhere except in that moment.

“Hey,” he nudged your shoulder and you finally looked up at him. “I’ve been where you are. Trust me, it’s not worth blaming yourself.” 

Your brows creased and you lifted your head, eyeing him carefully. “Did you lose someone close, Peter?” 

“Parents died when I was four,” he nodded, and from where you sat, the anguish was clear across his face. It was hard to hide a pain so crushing when you were burdened with the same kind. 

His eyes scanned your face and it looked as if he were seeing a different side of you and finally being able to take it all in. 

“Guess you’re just as broken as I am then,” you whispered with a softening gaze, lips tugging into a small grin. 

And in that bittersweet moment, you still found that you enjoyed his company no matter how broken you were. 

Your date went by in a blur. After getting off the Ferris wheel, he persuaded you to play against him in balloon popping. He won even if his focus had drifted to you every time you so much as giggled. You pouted, he won you a stuffed penguin, you forgave him, he smiled, your heart soared. It was a game of tug of war, seeing who could steal each other’s hearts with rudimentary and spontaneous outbursts first.

It was Peter’s brilliant idea to take you over to the nearest photo booth. You tried to plead with him, tried to tell him that you hated your picture being taken, however, the man was sneaking his way into your heart and the urge to give in overpowered your useless pleas. 

Inside the photo booth was snug, although the two of you fit in despite having no space between your thighs. The butterflies in your stomach never faded and only grew larger in quantity when he pulled you into him by a hand around your waist. It got to the point where you offered to sit on his lap; the air that surrounded you grew thick and silent and you could hear the erratic  _thump thump thump_ of his heartbeat. 

By the time it was ready to actually take the pictures, being this close to him grew as natural as breathing. 

For the first round, the two of you got away with doing ridiculously funny expressions. And for the next round, you had your arm around the back of his neck, pulling him close to you as if you were pretending to squeeze him. You were slowly yet surely growing more comfortable. 

When you decided to get closer, and right before the flash went off, you pressed your lips to his cheek. You pulled back as soon as your lips made contact with his skin, your own cheeks glowing in the light. 

“Couldn’t help myself,” you commented, a smirk pulling at the corners of your lips. “They just looked so kissable.” 

And he was still blushing during the drive back to your apartment. 

When he pulled up in front of your place, he made you wait in the truck so he could get out and open the door for you. Whoever said chivalry is dead apparently hadn’t met Peter; he was the embodiment of old school. 

He walked you up to your door and then handed you your penguin. For a good minute, you just stood there, unable to meet his eyes because all he did was stare at you. 

When a sudden thought occurred to you about still wearing his jacket, you began to take it off, but he stopped you. 

“You can keep it.” 

You looked up at him, eyes wide and questioning. “Are you sure?” 

“I don’t mind,” he gave you a one-shoulder shrug, eyes twinkling under your porch light. “It looks better on you anyways.” 

You snorted and then rolled your eyes, finding it easy to relax around him. “How long did it take you to come up with that one?” You inquired, raising one eyebrow. 

“I was thinking about it the entire way back.” He confessed, laughing when you chortled humorously. 

“Thank you for tonight, Peter,” you said, swaying back and forth on your feet in the most childlike manner you could muster. It felt nice to be this carefree and especially around someone who wasn’t a best friend or a family member. "You really know your way to a woman’s heart.” 

He whispered an adorable, “ _Yeah_?” 

“Yeah.” You repeated, voice soft, eyes softer. Not waiting for another second longer, you stood up on your tiptoes and pressed a lingering kiss to the edge of his mouth. When you pulled back, he had his eyes closed, following you with a blind faith. 

“Taking your date to the very top of a Ferris wheel and then getting her to open up about her past really just makes a girl’s toes curl.” You added, amusement bleeding from your tongue. 

He laughed when you laughed. 

You were  _really_  starting to love the sound of that. 

A cheeky grin broke out across your face when you backpedaled to your front door, eyeing him with great affection as he watched you with wide eyes. He looked as if he were experiencing the aftermath of being hypnotized, something you found completely innocent and precious. 

“I get off work at 6:30,” you offered, gripping your doorknob with one hand while the other gripped your stuffed penguin. “We can order take-out if you’d like.” 

He nodded immediately, flexing his fingers with an unbearable urge to hold your hand. “I-I’ll call you. Tonight. And– and tomorrow.” 

“Good,” you stepped across the threshold, keeping your unwavering eyes on him. Biting your lip, you inhaled sharply. “Goodnight, Peter.” 

He smiled warmly at you, and stepped backward, not realizing there were still two more steps to take before he got fully to the ground, and almost tripped. You held a hand to your mouth to suppress your giggles, the dazed look in his eyes only became more visible. 

“Are you okay?” You asked out of pure instinct. 

“Y-Yeah,” he smiled shyly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, (Name).” 

“See you, Peter.” Your smile was beaming and when you closed your door you turned right back around and peeked out through the window, watching as he left, a little lovesick for him.

This giddy sensation never left, not even when you walked up a flight of stairs.

But you couldn’t deny the fact that the feeling diminished as soon as you felt someone watching you through your living room window. 

A split second and soon your eyes landed on a piece of paper that was stuck to the glass. Skepticism got the best of you and soon you were tearing the paper off the window with trembling hands. 

 _Rooftop_. 

_\- S.M._

Your eyes widened, and a strange feeling entered your gut. It started off as a low rumble and then gradually shifted into something unfermented, pleasant. You looked at the window and then back to the note, and slowly, you felt a grin stretch across your cheeks. 

Without changing into your night clothes, you threw open your front door and ran up another three flight of stairs, barely contained exhilaration ascending into your chest. 

You burst through the door to the roof, a cold breeze hitting you with force. Instantly, you curled into Peter’s jacket– the one he let you keep– and searched the area around you. Labored breaths, sweaty palms tucked into sleeves, heart dropping down to your stomach and repeating. Where was he? The smile on your face was momentarily replaced by a look of concentration; you felt like a little girl on Christmas morning– waiting for your parents to wake up so you could unwrap your presents. 

There was a tap on your shoulder, “Boo.” 

It elicited a yelp from you, and you turned around to catch the sight of a red mask. Wide lenses stared back at you, and you giggled. 

“You’re here. What are you doing here?” 

He merely stood there for a minute, silently taking you in. If you were able to see his face, you’d be able to see just how awe-struck he was, but if the mumbled words weren’t enough indication of his current state of awe, then you didn’t know what else could be. 

“I– I wanted to come by and apologize,” and suddenly, his voice had changed. It wasn’t a subtle alteration, but you definitely noticed the difference. His voice was lowered as if he were trying to hide the sound of his natural voice. “Again.”

“I already forgave you,” you whispered, bringing your over-lapping, sleeved hands up so you could warm yourself up. He didn’t say anything. Your brows furrowed, a playful smile breaking out shortly after. “Did you just come here to apologize? And what happened to your voice? You sound different.”

“What–?” He cleared his throat and puffed out his chest, “I don’t– I don’t know what you mean.”

You snorted, your brow quirking up with a tender indignation. “You’re making your voice deeper. It’s obvious.” 

“No– No, actually– I’m not.”

“You really are.”

“Am not.” 

“Are too.”

“( _Name_ )–”

A gasp, “I never told you my name.”

The silence that engulfed you became thick with tension. From where you stand, over the gentle roaring of the wind, you can hear the heavy intakes of breath coming from him. It rugged, hoarse, almost attractive in a way. You found yourself taking a step closer to him, mustering up what little stealth you had. 

“What are you trying to accomplish here, (Name)?” He said it again, this time his voice slowly returning to normal, and immediately you liked the way it sounded coming from his lips. He whispered it delicately, making it sound like a prayer, like a plea. 

You gave him a triumphant grin, “Nothing at all,” you stood on your tiptoes and neared his face. “ _Spider-Man_.”

It was conspicuous, the way he tried making his voice deeper. You thought nothing of it at first, only finding it dorky, but then you really started to listen. Your first clue was the way he said your name– only Peter had the capability of making your toes curl when speaking your name the way he did. Then it was the not-so-subtle panicked tone in his voice, or when he laughed out of pure anxiety. It only happened for a minuscule of a minute, but you heard it. 

You weren’t even upset. 

Peter was Spider-Man. 

Peter Parker was the masked superhero that destroyed your book shop and then felt guilty enough to fix it. 

His entire body froze and that’s when you  _knew_  for certain. 

“I know how you can make it up to me,” you pondered lazily. 

“H-How?” He cleared his throat, shuffling on his two feet. 

Instead of answering him, you reached forward and fiddle with the rim of his mask. Your breathing became heavy and suddenly you felt as if you were being suffocated, you were lightheaded. Just when you felt you were about to fall, his hands come to rest on the curve of your sides. 

“Do you trust me?” You dared to ask. 

There was a prolonged silence that filled the air between you, and the only thing you could hear was his sharp intakes of breath. 

“Y-Yeah.” 

Just as the words left his mouth, you slowly pulled his mask up, and then placed it right above his nose. Placing either of your palms on his cheeks, you anchored yourself before lowering his mouth on your own. 

His lips were soft– warm even. It was innocent apart from the adorable sounds he was making. Whimpers crawled up his throat, and then he groaned, and he would hum. He kissed you as if you held the key to the universe. 

Discretely, you managed to tug his mask the rest of the way off, his blond hair flopping over his forehead. With the mask in one hand, you held his cheek with the other, pulling him further into you. 

He had yet to notice the lack of fabric covering his face. 

When you pulled away, and it took him longer to open his eyes, you noticed just how beautiful he looked up close. You nuzzled your nose against his with an elevated yearning which prompted him to re-capture your lips with his. 

You pulled away before he could touch them, giggling softly. “Easy there, Hotshot.” You pecked them once, to tease him, and then eased backward, heart fluttering when he pouted. 

“You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

At your words, his eyes flew open and his heart sank. He groaned, trying to grab his mask, sighing deeply when you held it out of his reach and behind your back. “(Name), you– you weren’t supposed to find out so soon. It’s not safe for you, and you already know too much.” He stopped rambling, feeling himself caving when you stared at him doe-eyed and curious. “I didn’t want to risk your safety.” 

“You underestimate me, Peter.” You challenged, face growing soft. “How do you know I’m unable to defend myself?” 

“I don’t. I didn’t mean it that way–” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, it’s just really dangerous for you and you’re too important to me now and…”

You interlocked your hands together behind his head, “And?” 

“I don’t want you getting hurt or–” he swallowed thickly, screwing his eyes shut. “( _Name_ )… I didn’t think I would fall this hard so soon.”

“Me neither, but that’s just how life is,” you gave him an Eskimo kiss. “It gives you this wonderful opportunity to mess up with the one person who will never limit your chances at doing so.” 

He opened his eyes, they were a soft, shimmering blue. His hold on you tightened, and he leaned his forehead against yours, looking down at you. This was the definition of puppy love, you were sure of it. 

“What if you get hurt?”

“Then I get hurt.” 

“But what if–”

“Then we will deal with it  _together_ , Pete.” Your voice became stern and prominent as you watched him closely. You touched his chest with the hand that held the mask, and he settled his larger one over yours. He looked so lost, so scared. It was okay, though because so were you. 

He opened his mouth to argue, to hope he still had a way to prompt you to change your mind, but with one look, he knew you were dead set on staying. It broke his heart. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you squeezed his cheeks with one hand. “You’re stuck with me.” 

He liked the sound of that.

Something loud broke out across the street; you could hear the sirens faintly, but as you glanced at Peter you could tell he needed to go. 

“Duty calls.” He breathed, expertly sliding his mask back over his head. He walked over and perched himself on the edge of the rooftop, reluctance filling him to the core, preventing him from taking that leap of faith. 

He looked back at you and you gave him a reassuring nod, smiling like the lovesick idiot you were. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Don’t be late.”

“I wouldn’t even dream of it!” He laughed and finally took the leap.


	2. Where Feet May Fail | MJ Watson

You don’t remember the last time you felt so adored. Could it have been a time before all of the chaos broke out? Possibly when you were sure that nothing in this entire universe could have completely tore you apart, a time when you were safe- when you knew that you couldn’t ever be touched by the hands of evil itself. 

It was wrong of you, of course it was wrong, but it felt good and you didn’t know when you would feel like this again. It all happened because you were lost in the moment, something came over you and the opportunity opened itself up right in front of your eyes. How were you supposed to deflect it or even merely ignore it? 

Her eyes were bright and loving and all of the warmth that you felt with Peter had somehow miraculously migrated into her. It was the way she spoke your name, the way it sent tingles all throughout your body, the way her touches felt as the tips of her fingers glided over your skin, creating goosebumps. You shuddered, crumbled, and she curled you into her arms with nothing but a raw sort of gentleness- one you’ve never familiarized yourself with. 

It was difficult, trying to neglect her compassion and turn it into something it wasn’t. She knew what you were going through, she was possibly the only other person who could really understand how you felt. 

You weren’t the only one who lost Peter; he was MJ’s before he was ever yours. 

It was the cold hard truth and despite knowing a part of you that hated that it was true, the other half of you didn’t care because now MJ was yours too. 

The events leading up to the funeral were somber and unusually silent. Not that it bothered you, although you sat unnaturally still next to MJ the entire ride there. She never said a word, but you could feel her lingering gaze on the side of your cheek whenever you so much as sniffled or wiped at your blotchy cheeks. 

You hated that you were so comfortable in letting her see you cry. And why wasn’t she crying yet? You always thought you were the stronger out of the both of you. Evidently, that was not the case anymore. It was fascinating how one could switch it all off so quickly and be fine with the consequences. You weren’t one of those people,  _especially_  not you. You were the one who wore your heart on your sleeve and were too naive to navigate in this godforsaken universe. 

Nothing was worse than walking right into a trap without knowing how you would come out alive. 

“We’re here.” MJ’s voice was soft just like the rest of her face as she entered your line of sight. She held out her hands toward you with a warm expectancy that suddenly melted your heart. 

“How long do we have to be here?” You asked, taking her hand in your own. 

She smiled at you, unhinging her hand from yours only to slide her arm around your own. “As long or as short as we want,” she promised, her voice giving away the suppressed sympathy she held for you. 

You breathed through your nose and nodded. 

“Hey,” she crooned, her arm tightening around yours. You couldn’t deny the fact that her closeness brought certain sensations back, ones that you tried so hard to push away and bury for as long as you could. It was difficult to stay away from the cheerful redhead; her light made you feel fuzzy. “We can leave now if it’s too much. I’m sure no one would pay any mind to it.” 

“No,” you shook your head, focusing on the movements of your feet as the two of you walked to where a sleek black casket laid in the middle of the cemetery. “I couldn’t do that. I don’t think I  _can_.” At the sight of it sitting there as if it were waiting specifically for you to come to it, you immediately began to feel dreary and lightheaded. 

She remained quiet, most likely contemplating your words in her head among with another million other things, you were sure. 

“Just don’t let me fall,” you brought your hand up to rest upon her arm, and she tensed. “Please.” 

“Never.” 

The ceremony went by in what seemed like a blur. People greeted and gave you their condolences. You didn’t even know who half of them were, and a part of you felt envious because Peter was very well taken care of and you knew that there was a time when you couldn’t take care of him. He had all these wonderful friends and family and here you were, almost as if you were non-existent in his glorious, well-lived life. 

Suddenly, you didn’t matter. 

You were merely a blip in his existence. 

“(Name)?” 

You turned towards the sound of the voice and notice the blurry figure beside you. You could barely make out her features and her eyes, but it was noticeable when her lips pulled into a frown at the sight of you. The words you wanted to speak played on the tip of your tongue, unwilling to spit them out in fear of abandonment. 

Why had she looked at you like that?

Instead of attempting to ask her why, she stepped forward and anchored you into her arms. Loving, calm, peaceful, almost enough to have you unravel in that moment. You kept a straight face, and let her hands draw soothing patterns on your back. Soon, the pain that you were holding in so precariously, was utterly unbearable. 

“It’s alright to cry, (Name).” She whispered into the crook of your neck. 

A wetness touched your cheeks and that’s when you realized you had been crying. You were sad. Of course, you were sad. You boyfriend of two years had just died, obviously you had a reason to feel so heartbroken. It was natural. 

Right? 

The sorrow that encapsulated within the vessels of your blood had been cut open, overflowing, overwhelming. You didn’t think such sadness could be harbored for so long. 

You caved and wrapped your arms around MJ’s shoulders, burrowing your face into her shoulder, becoming a weeping, blubbering mess of emotion. 

It was natural. 

Throughout the entire service, MJ never left your side. She tended to holding your hand this time, keeping a comfortable hold of you with her fingers interlaced with yours. It felt nice to have her so close. You never even once pulled away, not even when she asked if you wanted to be alone. You only shook your head and tightened your hand around hers with a dire need, trying to speak to her without actually having to open your mouth. 

She understood. 

With perfect clarity, she understood you. 

On the way home, you sat in the back of a taxi alongside MJ. It was quiet once again, but your hand was still held captivated by her slightly larger one. You never really thought of it until now, but your hand was made to be held by hers. 

Feeling her softening gaze on the side of your cheek, you turned around to barely catch her focus shifting away, her cheeks colored deeply in scarlet. A warm fuzzy feeling fluttered in your stomach and you held your breath, watching her reflection in the window next to her as she watched the scenery outside pass by in a blur. 

She was ethereal. 

“MJ?”

You didn’t think her head could turn so fast. It was like she was waiting for you to say something, anything. “Yes?” 

“How do you do it?” 

“Do what, sweetheart?” 

You exhaled with a quivering breath, muscles tightening. “Keep it all in and hidden so well?” Your expression dropped, face twisting into one of complete defeat and utter failure. 

As if she had a string connecting her to you, her face dropped only milliseconds later and she scooted closer to you. Hesitance was clear across her face, and she knew that you coped with loss differently than she did, but she couldn’t help but feel the need to comfort you. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I keep crying so much,” you sniffled, a small apologetic grin breaking out across your face. Stillness overcame your body when she reached up with one hand to cup your cheek tenderly, eyes showing what you guessed was affection for you. 

“You don’t have to apologize to me, (Name). You never have to.” She vowed, voice stern yet undeniably gentle. Leaning forward, she touched her forehead to yours and you stared at her through crossed eyes, watching her with levity, something you haven’t been able to do for almost a week. 

“You are-” she hummed, breathing you in and then smiling at you in that adorable way that she does. “-allowed to break and shatter and crumble and cry. It’s the body’s way of releasing all of that anger and anguish. You can let it all go,” she kissed your nose, her lips lingering before pulling back shortly. “I just deal with mine in a different way, which is alright too.” 

You relaxed in her embrace, cupping her cheeks with the palm of your hands. “Then let it all go, MJ.” 

“I– I can’t.” 

“Why not?” 

She gave you a heartfelt grin, the corners of her lips quirking up in that playful manner you’ve always enjoyed seeing. “Because my job is making sure that I am strong,” she leaned into your touch. “For you.” 

That was all the courage you needed to surge forward and capture her lips with yours. 

Your lips moved urgently and desperately over hers, gliding and locking and pulling and yearning. It was all causing your brain to go hazy, and your toes to curl. When she let out a small laugh against your lips, you felt as if the heaviness in your chest was being abstracted from you slowly. 

You didn’t know it now, but that burden you carried, that hollowness you felt deep inside, wouldn’t be there forever. 

And it was all because of MJ. 


	3. Truth or Dare | Miles Morales

Drunk hormonal teenagers danced to the raging beats; it was loud and obnoxious, yet here you stood, red solo cup in your hand as you surveyed the crowd of sweaty bodies. You didn’t really remember whose party this was, nonetheless their house, you just tagged along with your overly, somewhat tolerated best friends, hoping they would bring you in order to get your mind off the stress you’ve been going through. Admittedly, it helped, but the stress was back as quick as it came when your small group of friends migrated over to the jocks and “cooler kids”, as you liked to label them. 

This house reeked, you noticed. Your eyes were glued to the middle of the house where every single one of your friends was dancing, moving their bodies along to the beat. You scoffed and rolled your eyes when they all clinked their plastic cups together, cheering as the DJ switched to an even more upbeat song. What was the point of all this when you could just be at home, studying and possibly even doing your Chemistry homework?

_Oh, right._

The point to this was that you were here to let loose; you needed to relax and become less stressed. You would try to anyways.

As you turned to go get a refill, you smacked hard against that of another person. You stumbled back, letting out a feeble, ‘ _whoa_ ’ before a pair of strong and steady hands went around your waist, grounding you in your place. Thankfully, the rest of your drink had been gulped down before you even decided to walk away, so nothing spilled over the rim of your cup.

“Are- Are you okay?”

You looked up, partially startled, but then realizing that it was the person who caught you. Tender, adolescent brown eyes stared back at you, but you were unable to say or do anything, being too captivated by how wide and bright-eyed he was. He looked somewhat like a puppy- you  _knew_  this boy. 

Miles Morales was a mystery, and you liked playing the detective. 

“I’m f-fine,” you pulled back, finally luring yourself out of the trance. Avoiding his eyes, you dusted off the imaginary dust from your jeans and cleared your throat. If you waited too long then things might just become awkward, so without giving him a chance to spike up a conversation with you, you turned around and bolted to the punch bowls, suddenly in need of refilling your cup with the punch somebody told you not to touch.

_You could’ve said thank you, (Name). He was kind enough to earn at least something other than ‘ **yeah** ’. God, you’re such a fucking dick._

After quickly deciding that you would rather have a drink from the alcohol infected punch, you refilled your cup and began your aimless trek around the mansion-like house.

An hour and another refill of your solo cup later, you found yourself sitting next to a bunch of other teenagers playing an innocent game of truth or dare. Some of them were people you knew, some you were familiar with, and others you were completely unacquainted with. At the time you agreed to do it, you knew it would be harmless, but now you were starting to rethink and curse your intoxicated muddled brain.

Why did you even have to agree to come here? You were starting to feel lightheaded from the alcohol you consumed for the majority of the party.

“Alright, new girl. it’s your turn.”

Your head snapped up to the booming voice, eyes landing of those of one Ganke Lee. He smirked over at you, eyes naturally squinted and veiled by translucent square-rimmed glasses.

You tapped the rim of your red solo cup with a casualness that trumped your raging nerves deep down in the pit of your stomach. Eyes of every other person in the circle bounced over to you, suddenly finding you more interesting than anything in the room.

“Hit me, Four-eyes.” You said and then tipped your head back to ingest the remaining of your beverage.

“Not me,” his smirk deepened, his eyes flickering over to the body adjacent to you. You followed his gaze and just about felt your heart drop down to your toes then repeat several more times. “Miles gets to ask you.”

A nervous chuckle eluded past your lips, glancing from the man in question then back to Ganke- he merely waggled his brows over at his best friend, then craned his head in your direction as if to prompt the poor boy into asking you.

“Fine. Whatever,” you sat up straighter and crossed your legs over one another. Your focus had entirely gravitated over to Miles, and without having control, the butterflies you tried to keep at bay had risen back up into your stomach, causing heat to consume your cheeks.

He stared almost longing at you as you gave him your full attention, ignoring the intriguing eyes of those surrounding you. Wow, people were really entertained by your self-causing ineptitude.  _What a world to live in_ , you gave an internal, humorless chuckle.

“Oh, um, okay,” he scratched the back of his head, and the more he waited, the more it was noticeable that he was becoming flustered. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” Was your immediate answer, subconsciously dragging the tip of your index finger over the rim of the cup.

“Do you, well, do you-”

Ganke grumbled exasperatedly, throwing his hands up in the air to present his current mood. “Do you like Miles?”

The room erupted in disbelieving gasps and mumbled whispers.

“ _Dude_ -!” The size of Miles’ eyes went round, wild with embarrassment and in return, you were starting to feel the aftermath of your alcohol consumption wear off.

“Wait, what?” Your eyes were about the same size as Miles, and before you had the time to comprehend what had just been said, he heaved himself up and sprinted out of the room so quickly that it all seemed to happen in a blur. It became awkward, but all that mattered was that you get up and search for the boy before he got too far away for you to demand he explain. Instead of sticking around like you normally would have, you heaved yourself up and walked up the stairs to the basement, throwing away your cup on the way. 

If anything, the crowds of raging hormonal teenagers had somehow gotten bigger. You had to basically fight your way past them, shoving, nudging, growling that they  _move out of your way_. A permanent scowl stretched across your features as you focused on finding the boy who had made an impression on you, enough to have you curious.

You wanted to talk to him because it seemed innocent. Undeniably, you were just as infatuated with him as he were of you, you imagined. He was smart, sweet, beautiful in more ways than one. Miles was the only person who you found intriguing enough to learn about; you analyzed him a lot during the classes you had with him, studied him closely in the halls. His locker was two lockers ahead of yours, so the task wasn’t difficult. In fact, it made gazing at him with a lovesick expression way more easier. 

You arrived by the front door, your irritation at its peak. He wasn’t here anymore, he most likely would have left by now; something that sounded compelling the more you stood there awkwardly with your hands in your back pockets. 

_Screw this place_ , you turned around on your feet and left without a lingering glance. This party wasn’t worth wasting your time on. 

In bleak midwinter, weathers weren’t ones you liked occupying your time with, especially if you were without a coat. You don’t know why you decided not to bring one- nothing seemed to process in your head when your friends dragged you out here in the more dense places of New York. This part of town was edgy, your father would remind you. 

An alarm set off in your head when you passed by a vicinity made of up homeless people all standing around barrel fires. Grumpy, drug-induced expression mantled their blemishing faces and as soon as you shuffled by, feet scraping against the cracked pavement, ill-encouraging their focus to reduce to you, you felt your heart spike. 

What made you think walking alone at night in the most unrural place in New York was a great idea? Sometimes you could be a ditz. 

_Just keep walking._

_Keep walking._

_Please, stop staring at me._

_No, no, **no** -_

“Mind If I walk with you?” 

Your heart dropped at the voice, but you didn’t stop walking. Instead, you only glanced over your shoulder to catch one Miles Morales walking in sync with you, taking long strides to catch up beside you. He had his hands tucked protectively in his jacket pocket, a shy smile stretching over his face as you shared a look with one another. 

“By all means.” You mumbled incoherently, although it was enough for him to hear it flutter past your lips. 

“You’re quite the daredevil, you know? Walking all by yourself at night.” He stared ahead, his cheeks glowing underneath the moonlight. “This area isn’t exactly what I would call safe. You’re lucky I got here in time- they looked like they wanted to eat you up.” 

Embarrassment hit you faster than you could blink, and you glanced ahead of you, suddenly finding your feet way more interesting. “Yeah, well. I wasn’t thinking straight, I guess.” 

Things got quiet, and surprisingly, it wasn’t such an uncomfortable silence. It actually made you feel safer. Miles that sort of long-lasting effect on you, you supposed, cheeks heating up at the realization. Could you have been possibly more infatuation by him than you originally thought? Perhaps. 

“I- uh- I guess I have some explaining to do, huh?” He whispered, awarding you with one of his many softening, boyish grins. Shaking his head in a nonchalant manner, he pulled his hands out of his pockets and crossed his arms over his chest to warm himself better. He side-eyed you, noting your curious expression, breath hitching from how beautiful the moon looked as it reflected off your face. He had to figure out where he left off, having forgotten what he was going to say within the seconds he stared at you. “Right-”

“Miles-”

“You know my name.” His smile was beaming in your peripherals, resembling the finest piece of art in the world, something the cosmos would be jealous of; beautiful and dreamy. 

You were spellbound. 

“Y-Yeah,” you cleared your throat, feeling the heat travel and take over your ability to think straight once again. Nothing would be able to process through your mind if he continued to stare at you like that. “I mean- well- you aren’t exactly someone who’s easily  _forgettable_.” 

He almost swooned right then and there. 

Pure delight mirrored the expression on his face while he continued to glance at you, not at all shamed in his blatant staring. Your beauty was beyond the galaxies and yet he still couldn’t comprehend it all especially when it wasn’t just your appearance. He found beauty in everything you did; you had eyes that shined while in synchronization with the constellations above, honeyed and mischievous. If he were being honest, it was what lured him to you at first glance. 

 He croaked out an adorable, “Yeah?” 

“Sure, why not.” You shrugged, loving the way he stared at you, feening off the attention he gifted you with. With a shaky exhaled breath, you tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, feeling his hand brush against yours in the midst of his unsubtle enrapture. “So, it took you an inebriated game of truth or dare to finally admit it?”

His focus was immediately back onto the pavement ahead of him, smile lingering, shyness overpowering. He gave you a vague nod, sheepish in every way. “I wish it hadn’t taken me so long,” he went back to stuffing his hands in his pockets, lips pursed. “You deserved to know sooner.” 

“Nah,” you mused. “It’s okay. I understand, truly.”

“You do?” He quirked an eyebrow, giving you another side glance. 

You nodded your head, shivering from the cold breeze that nipped at your skin. “I forgive you, Miles.” You joked sweetly, lips tilted. “But I need you to forgive me as well.” You gestured behind you briefly, “This is me.” 

“Why would I need to do that?” He enunciated, eyes squinting as the two of you stopped. He took note in your house behind you, but his focus quickly migrating back over to you.

“Because I never had the guts to do this until now.”

“Wait, do wha-” he was cut short as your lips pecked his once, and before he could kiss you back, you had pulled away. His voice betrayed him, growing high-pitched in his short-lived frenzy before the need to kiss you again festered within the very core of his chest. “O-oh. Th-that.” 

“Thanks for the walk, Miles.” You began to backpedal, feet touching base with each step leading up to your porch. An insane urge forced him to follow you, but you shook your head. “Stay,” he obliged instantly, eyes softening along with the rest of his face. “Come see me tomorrow.” 

“Why tomorrow?” 

“There’s this new burger joint that opened up last weekend,” you said, eyes alight with adventure. “You’re gonna take me there.” 

Miles immediately lit up, your elation contagious.  “L-like a date?”

“Exactly like a date.” He giggled, watching you walk away with a desperate, lovesickness that only you’d be able to cure. “Don’t be late, Morales.” 

He wouldn’t  _dare_. 


	4. Collide(Part 2 of Serendipity) | RIPeter x Reader//Peter B. Parker x Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last part to this! i hope you all forgive me for what you are about to read. just remember i love you :'))

You were never alone in the darkest of times. At least you weren’t when your heart became entangled with that of another source of comfort. It was relaxing to know that you didn’t have to be alone anymore- when you were scared and hurting- you had your own shining beacon to swoop in and destroy the darkness for you. 

That’s what Peter was to you. 

Keyword:  _Was_.

Today you were mourning.

It all happened two days ago,  _that_  was when your life got torn apart. The sound of the knocking was still present in your memory; it was like reopening your scars, tearing the flesh apart and letting the blood slide down your skin only for it to pool at the ground beneath you. Scars like that weren’t meant to stay healed, were they? At least not the ones that decorated your body.

You could still feel Peter’s lips lingering- and  _searing_ \- on your forehead, the way they felt- the warmth that evaded you from the core. His kisses were always so nice no matter how innocent they had seemed at the time. 

Watching him walk out that door was probably the most painful thing you could have done, although it hadn’t felt that way at the time. You didn’t know that it would be the last time you saw him or kissed him or touched him. When he walked out that door, you felt him take the remaining of his shared light with him. And when you waited for him to come back home to you, you watched as the colors around you began to fade. 

It was agonizing to experience, and the pain only escalated when you answered your door on that uneventful evening. 

What you expected to see was Peter on the other side of the threshold. 

You didn’t- never in a million years- would have thought to see two police officers with somber expressions across their faces. 

Blinking became your friend that night; it proved useful for when you couldn’t keep your eyes open, for when you could feel yourself slipping in and out of reality. 

When they told you the one thing you never wanted to hear, you didn’t blink at all. It was like feeling the strings attached to your heartbreak apart and leave you to crumble to the ground. Your knees gave out first, and then it was like a game of dominoes- one thing crashing and tumbling right after the other. Once the pain you endured was in motion, there was no stopping it, no curing this loneliness, no taking your heart and putting it back together. 

Peter Parker was dead, gone, no longer existing. 

_Just read the words, (Name). You know how to read. Just read._

As tears blurred your vision, you stared down at the paper in your hands, empty, void irises, unflinching. You couldn’t even bring yourself to read what was on the paper, you just weren’t strong enough anymore. 

While the cameras flashed around you, you felt anything but grateful as you stood in front of the press and Peter’s family- even what little family you had left. Your sister, her husband, and your niece sat off to the side, softly crying and holding onto each other as if they knew how you felt. 

You doubt they knew- you didn’t think it was possible for anyone to feel the way you did, or lack thereof considering all that was left of you was this black hole of nothingness. In your entire twenty-six years of life, you didn’t think there could be a more unbearable pain than when you lost your parents. You were wrong. 

Losing Peter was worse. 

_Just breathe._

You inhaled, sniffling for what felt like the tenth time as your focus drifted down to the scribbled words you had written just last night. 

 _I believe in you, (Name)_. 

“Peter Parker wasn’t just a hero,” you began, your voice scratchy, feeling like sandpaper when you spoke. A camera flashed, you flinched. But instead of giving up, you grounded yourself, using the flat surface of the podium to keep yourself standing. Exhaustion weighed down on you heavily and without having that extraneous barrier to keep you afloat, you would have already been on the floor. 

You started again. 

“Peter Parker was never just a hero, he was more than that. He was my best friend,” bile started to rise in your throat, but you swallowed around it. “He was- in all sense of the word- my  _anchor_.” 

When the cameras continued to flash, capturing your picture, you went on as you should. You didn’t like the attention you received, but Aunt May didn’t want to settle on a private funeral; you begged her to make it small, to lessen the chance of the press, but even if she wanted to, there was no use; everyone knew who Spider-Man truly was underneath that mask. 

“I knew Peter as the masked hero who fell through the roof of my bookshop and felt too guilty about it. So, he offered to help rebuild it… and it was, safest to say, the best apology anyone could’ve been given.“ You scanned the sea of people below you, eyeing them with a raw sadness that ate at you from the inside, but you still continued. “I felt entirely too lucky to have been his. Something so powerful as what we had felt like I was living a dream despite not having the best house, the best car, the best clothes. He made everything worth it- he was too pure, too  _precious_  to me and I just wish that he didn’t   _leave me_ so soon.” 

_Don’t cry._

_Not here._

_Not now._

You had to repeat those words to yourself during the entire Eulogy; it was between that and having a strange need to twirl the engagement ring around your finger. Just the sight of it made you feel sick to your bones- your sister made it a big deal to remind you that your defiance in taking it off was only going to make your coping process more difficult. There was a twisted part of you that wanted to keep it on because it was another thing that reminded you of one of the most memorable nights in your life. That night had been nothing but surreal. Peter had gone all out on trying to perfect it, to make it the best night, to make you feel as comfortable beyond any level of relaxation. The memories flashed- still anew and fresh- in your mind and it took everything in you not to break down and cry right then and there. But crying now wasn’t going to solve anything. Neither was crying later, but you didn’t want to cry in front of thousands of people.

By the time you were finished with giving the Eulogy, you had to be escorted off by your brother-in-law. He had given you that saddening look again as he held onto your arm, aiding you in taking wobbly steps down the pathway because you were just too weak to walk on your own.

The reception went by in a blur shortly after you sat back down. Not that you were paying attention to anything else around you- because you weren’t. There wasn’t a good thought in your mind as you watched time go by while remaining almost catatonic. You didn’t want to talk unless someone asked you to, so until then, you weren’t going to say another word- there was a high possibility that you would end up screaming instead.

“(Name)?” You looked up and into the eyes of your sister. “It’s time.”

The funeral would be just as heartbreaking. He was going to have an open casket, something you weren’t privy to, but also didn’t have the power to change. Having an open casket meant that you’d stare at him with knowing that he’d be unable to look back at you in that lovesick way he always had. It made your already broken heart tear itself further in half just from the thought of it, and when you finally had the strength to walk up to see him, you cried. It was the ugly crying where you would sob and hiccup and blubber as you spoke those three little words down at his lifeless corpse.

_I miss you._

You expected his body to twitch at your words or make any sign that maybe he heard you, but he remained cold and unmoving. That unforgiving, heavy feeling pushed down on your chest once more and you crumbled to the ground, your bare knees scraping and digging into the muddy dirt. It was cold, but at least you could feel something other than the lurking numbness, other than this feeling of never being able to become anything but damaged.

It hurt the most because you knew Peter was it. He was  _it_ for you, the real thing. And you even talked about the consequences- you spoke about them like they were right around the corner, every day- but you never imagined it would be so soon. You didn’t think he would be gone  _so goddamn soon_.

He wasn’t supposed to leave you. This wasn’t the plan; he was going to marry you, the ring on your finger was proof of that. It was proof that his promises were genuine and that he would never break them.

But he did. He broke them. 

Peter Parker broke just about every single fucking promise he made you and it was all because you weren’t prepared enough.

The rose you held in your hand slipped from your fingers and fell almost inaudibly onto the sleek black casket. It hadn’t been fully buried- not yet. A part of you didn’t want it to be covered up because you weren’t ready to let go. You were still in pain- it lingered, but you could still feel it lurking. If you had the strength, you would have left when everyone else had. You stood there for a good minute, your black dress now soaked to the brim with a mixture of rain and mud. You were cold, but it didn’t bother you as much as you thought it would. Some people even tried giving you an umbrella, but you didn’t need one, didn’t want one.

“ _Liar_.” You rasped, hands clenching into the dirt below you.

Your only reply was that of the howling winds and downpour of rain. It slithered down your cheeks, mixing in with the onslaught of your falling cascading tears, and then collected at the curve of your bottom lip. You were the epitome of everything imperfect, it was a side of you that infected and consumed your humanity.

“If only you could see me now, Pete.” It slipped past your lips in a barely audible mumble.

( _ **”Come back to me-!”**_ )

Your hands clenched into a fist causing the dirt to build up in the palm of your hands. It leaked out of the creases of your fingers, spilled back into the Earth below. Your hand shook as a sob wracked through your form, and with weakish movements, you placed your other hand on top of the other, keeping it grounded in its place.

_God, you were so fucking vulnerable._

You don’t remember how long you stayed there, in that crouched over position, but when you took in your surroundings next, you knew that it was time to go. The rain had stopped and it was time to leave his side, something you never thought you’d be doing- leaving his side, leaving him. Especially after having watched the graveyard workers bury his casket into the ground, you knew that all of it would leave a permanent scar, mentally if not emotionally. 

Had it been you all along? Were you the one who left him? Was that why he was the one six feet below and not you?

Your inner demons would fight to determine whose fault it was. It was only going to be a matter of days before you figured it all out, to see who won and who lost. 

As you heaved yourself up and brushed the dirt off your knees, you gave his headstone one last lingering look and then proceeded to leave. You’d have to come visit him tomorrow after work and the days after until you were fully healed and recovered. 

It would take months, years even, you knew that much.

( ** _”Only if you make it that way.”_** )

You stopped abruptly and swiveled in your place, taking in your surroundings, eyes darting from one part of the cemetery to the other. Nothing, you saw nothing except for the endless rows of headstones and variously placed trees that seemed to sway in the breeze. You hugged your arms closer around your frame, chin trembling and heart racing. 

"Someone there?” 

Silence, pitch black,  _nothingness_. 

You couldn’t get over the traumatizing sensation that the voice sounded oddly like that of your currently dead fiancé. Great, you were hearing things now. Next, you’d be hallucinating him. 

( ** _”That’s not quite how this works, sweetheart.”_** )

You screeched then stumbled back; the voice sounded closer that time as if it had been spoken right into your ear. Wild eyes searched for anything, something that would help you remain with reality, keep you sane- were you losing your mind?

( ** _”Not more than you already have.”_** )

“Okay,” you uncrossed your arms, throwing up your fists and giving the eerie darkness a snarl. “I won’t hesitate to beat the crap out of you-  _whoever_  you are.” 

It went quiet once more and by now you had begun to feel the harsh sting of tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. If you weren’t terrified before, you certainly were now. 

When silence was all that encapsulated you for the next three minutes, you felt yourself deflate. Your fists slowly unclenched and your heart rate leveled out, beating back to its normal pace. Screwing your eyes shut, you let out a laborious breath and then reopened your eyes as if that small action had given you back weeks worth of energy. 

Shaking your head, you decided that maybe you would just go home and sleep it off.

You woke up the next day feeling overwhelmingly drained. You were so out of it last night that instead of going back to your apartment, you ended up at Aunt May’s house. It didn’t stop there; the nightmares involving Peter’s death continuously violated your mind and with every attempt at sleep, you were awoken by your own gut-wrenching screams. By the time the sun’s rays shined in through the blinds of Peter’s old bedroom, you knew that sleep wasn’t going to come easy. At least for a couple more weeks. 

You took the day off, closed up shop. Nothing was going to get you through the rest of the week, not even your precious shop. If anything it would only cause you more pain; you did everything in that shop with Peter, starting from the day you met him and ending with the day before his inevitable death wish. 

_One year, three months, four days._

You didn’t even know why you kept track, it was so cliche. All you knew was that time with Peter was preserved and you lived life as if it were the last. Only when he died did life seem to freeze and last for eternity, you felt as if you were on a loop, reliving his death over and over and over and over-

“(Name)?” 

Your eyes were glued to the window beside you, and you could see just how exhausted you truly were. Cheeks sunken in, heavy bags underneath red-rimmed eyes, which was a clear sign that you’d been crying all night, even your skin looked blanched and frail in comparison to how it normally glowed with innocence. 

In the mirror’s reflection, you caught May’s sheer hopeless expression. It was obvious and it stung, pricked,  _tore_  at you. You wondered if there would ever be a time when you’d be able to see her smile again, just once. 

“Dear, you should go home and rest.” She whispered hoarsely, leaning the bulk of her weight on the door frame. 

“I  _can’t_  sleep, May.” 

“Can you try?” 

With a heavy heart, you propped your knees up and leaned your forearms over them, cheek pressed firmly there. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.” 

And so you went home and you tried to sleep, but everything was just too damn loud. You couldn’t keep the voices out of your head- your inner demons were fighting for their dominance. You decided to give up when the unrelenting echoes and cries in your head became too loud to withstand. Nothing was going to help ease your mind in that moment. 

You couldn’t deny the fact that you were missing Peter, and badly. By this time, you were practically feening to hear his laugh, feel his arms as they wrapped around you while you cooked dinner or washed dishes, feel the warmth of his skin as he brought you into a slow dance, twirling you around in the refrigerator light when it was too late to properly function. You were feening for the flutter of your name on his lips when you’d both come home intoxicated, drunk from a long night at a club, and he would crash into you, surrendering himself entirely to your mercy. 

It got to the point where you were dragging your feet across the floor because the memories were just too vivid and overpowering. Enervation utterly clouded your sense of reality and you found yourself bumping into the edge of your couch or your coffee table. 

A short time after your aimless maneuvering through your apartment, you yearned to wear something of his; a shirt, one of his sweats, his boxers-  _anything_. You settled for wearing one of his jackets, and oddly enough, it looked vaguely familiar which was shocking since the man had a whole closet full of them. With fragility, you slipped the jacket on and zipped it all the way up, instantly being immersed within its natural scent. It swallowed you whole, the sleeves stopping about three inches over the entirety of your hand and the edge of it coming just above your knees. You didn’t realize just how short you were until now, it was a funny feeling.

You stuffed your hands into the pockets, halting when your fingers brushed against something thin and flimsy like paper. Furling your brows, you slowly pulled it out, your breathing becoming irregular when you noticed what it was. 

Your knees buckled and you carefully lowered yourself on the floor of your shared bedroom, fingers skimming across the edges of the picture. A wave of desolation cocooned itself in the center of your chest, pressing severely over your lungs, making it feel as though you couldn’t breathe, like you were suffocating, choking. 

It was the pictures you took together on your first date. Inside the photo booth. 

( ** _”Please, don’t cry.”_** )

A sudden gust of air swished through your hair and the pictures that were just in your hand flew out of your grip, scattering across the floor ahead of you. 

“Not again,” you groaned, pulling at the roots of your hair while rocking back and forth. “Get out of my  _head_.” You pulled, tugged, pounded on your temples, willing the voice to go away, to fade, to go somewhere else, anywhere but inside of your head.

( ** _”This is a two-way street, sweetheart.”_** )

It was that nickname- that  _goddamned_  nickname. 

Slowly, you lifted your head and observed the area around you. You had half of your face covered from the jacket mostly because you were hesitant and petrified. 

Petrified because you knew that voice. It wasn’t just some random person talking to you, painting their voice along the walls of your cranium. This particular voice belonged to the one you lost. 

“Why are you doing this to me? Just leave me  _alone_.” It was a cry upon your chapped lips, something raw and filled with grief. 

The air around you thickened and shifted so perceptibly that you felt that whatever strength you had to pick yourself back up- mentally- had completely drained from your system. 

But with every downfall came the inescapable climb. Except this time you weren’t sure if this rise was going to be enough. Nothing was in your control anymore, and you could slowly start to feel the walls caving in on you, your lungs inflating and deflating with every harsh intake of breath. Sweat formed at the temples of your forehead and your body felt light, you were spinning, soaring, and then you were falling, crashing, tumbling, crashing, tumbling, crashing,  ** _tumbling_** -

Just as you were sure this was going to it, that you were finally going to break, an insistent knock caught you off-guard. Removing your hands from your hair, you lifted your head and felt your breathing come to a slow, steady pace once more. 

For a quiet moment, you didn’t move, didn’t breathe. 

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

This time it was louder, either from having sensitive hearing or because it was just more booming, you had no clue. 

“C-Coming!” You rasped, clearing your throat right after. Before walking over to the door, you stopped to stand in front of your mirror to examine yourself. Yeah, you looked like crap, but neither were you in the mood to change your appearance. 

When you reached the door, you pulled it open and were met with young, adolescent eyes, curious and eager. 

“Miles?” You mumbled, blinking rapidly when the sun’s rays corrupted your vision. When his face came back into view, you noticed that he looked more than curious, the poor kid looked nervous and full of remorse. 

“Ms. (Last name). I’m– I’m really sorry, but we need something from you.”

“We…?” 

He took one large step to the side and that’s when your eyes found those of two other people. A girl, about the same age as Miles, stood with a presumptuous grin, framed by short blonde hair. A sense of unfamiliarity painted the creases between your brows, but milliseconds later and you had locked your sights on the other figure next to her. 

Your face dropped and suddenly all air was forced out of you. You didn’t realize that you were moving until you stepped off the porch. Bare feet made contact with the ground below, and it took everything in you not to lurch, to crumble to your knees, to break all over again because it seemed to happen a lot more lately. 

“Peter?” You croaked, feeling a mild wave of vertigo infect you. He was standing right there, right in front of you, how? 

He looked different from what your eyes conveyed to you. Stubble had shadowed the area around his chin, his eyes were  _brown_  instead of blue, his hair was grayer- lacking the healthier shine to it- he even had a gut for crying out loud. 

It was him. Peter. In the flesh. 

Tears blurred your vision, and you could barely see the structure of his jaw or the rare and suppressed elation crinkling at the corners of his eyes. But you had felt when he reached up and cupped the side of your face, your cheek fitting perfectly in the palm of his hand. 

Everything felt hot.

“It’s me, (Name).”

And as if his voice was the key to destroying you whole, your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you promptly slumped forward, cheek meeting that of his hard bulky chest. 

Darkness devoured your every sense of reality quickly after. 

When your surroundings gradually began to come back to you, you were met with the ceiling of your room. You blinked once, twice, and then soon you were readjusting to the colors and brightness. A dull ache was at the temples of your head, continuous and aggravating. You groaned and touched your head, the aftermath of limited food consumption sat heavy on your stomach. 

You noticed that Peter’s old, worn jacket had been removed from your form. Your stomach dropped. 

“How long has it been since you last ate?” 

You squealed, head snapping over to the source of the voice. He sat at the edge of your bed, hands in his lap, elbows resting on his knees. Your eyes took in the specimen before you and that’s when the previous events began to reenter your mind, bringing you back to the reason of you fainting. 

“You- You-”

“It’s me, (Name),” he gave you a tender grin, but you could still count the worry lines on his face. “You fainted, you know. How long has it been since you last ate? Or drank anything?”

With furled brows, you let the question go straight over your head, giving yourself the opportunity to examine him in kind. He looked so different yet the same. The subtle similarities were the things that made your head spin- you couldn’t remember how long it’d been since you last touched him or since you were even remotely this close to him. 

Was this even him? 

“(Name), I need you to think for a minute. I know this all must be pretty weird-”

“I’m sorry,” you cleared your throat, screwing your eyes shut before reopening them to stare at him once more. “I’m having a really hard time processing all of this right now- you died, correct?” 

“No.” He inhaled, moving to sit further on the bed. “That wasn’t me.” 

“Your voice sounds different.” You took notice, his words unable to register through you, unable to move pass the utter shock. 

“Look, I understand-”

“You couldn’t  _possibly_ understand.” Confusion filled your body, raw and sheer confusion to the point where it became a blinding sensation. A cluttered mind was never such a good thing for you- especially when you had a more sophisticated way of showing how such emotions took their toll on you. 

He gulped, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in order to reflect on his worry. His brown eyes were wide now, boring the absolute anticipated fear he felt. 

 ** _(“Actually, I think-”_** )

“No,  _stop_. Shut up!” On instinct, you scooted away until your back was pressed firmly against the bedpost. Your eyes slammed shut, not being able to focus on Peter when you were beginning to hear your dead fiancé’s voice again.

“(Name), you  _need_ to breathe.” 

“I- I can’t.” 

It was true. Your lungs were beginning to close in on you, taunting you as they inflated and deflated and repeated that over and over again. You took one breath, but it was cut short when you felt a wave of nausea take over. 

In a rush, you stumbled out of your bed, just barely missing Peter’s hands as they reached out for you. You darted into the bathroom, breathing heavy, mind disorientated and then locked the door before anyone could come in. 

“(Name)! Come on, just open the door!” The man who wore Peter’s face and spoke with his voice said, banging his fists on the door.  

“Is she okay?”

“What happened?”

 _There were too many voices._ You couldn’t place who the other voices were behind the closed door, but they registered within you and it all became too much. 

( ** _”Remember what I taught you. Focus on one thing at a time.”_** )

“You’re not real- you died!  _Get out of me head!_ ” 

A gentle breeze blew through the frail strands of your hair as if his ghost was standing right next to you, and  _that_  became you’re breaking point. Without being able to comprehend so much at once, your hand shot forward as it curled into a fist and you smashed the mirror. Tiny shards of the glass flew in different directions, some lodged into your hand. It was enough to emit a strained yelp from you which in return caused the banging on the door to cease. Immediately, you brought your hand into your chest, cradling it as the blood dripped down your wrist and then your arm, falling to the floor. 

You sat yourself down on the toilet seat right as the door was kicked in. Peter’s eyes did a quick search before they landed on you, and you’d never seen anyone rush over to your side as quickly as he did. As your heart began to slow down from the harsh thudding, he knelt down in front of you, his eyes scanning over the wound you were cradling and holding to your chest. 

That was, no doubt, going to leave a stain. 

Peter’s eyes were wide and glazed over with unshed tears at the sight of you.

“Gwen, Miles, I need something to clean this up,” the two teenagers behind him gave him a frantic nod of their heads and dashed away to retrieve said tools. With a gentleness you couldn’t describe, he reached for your hand after a subtle expression in your direction that asked if he could take care of it, and observed the damage done. He flinched at the sight of the tiny shards stuck in your skin, puncturing through and creating more blood to leave your body. “I told you to breathe, dammit.” 

“This isn’t  _my_  fault.”

“No, I didn’t mean-” he paused. “Just hold still.” 

You squirmed in your place when your eyes caught sight of the wound. Bile raised in your throat, your stomach felt queasy, you paled. You never liked seeing blood. 

Your parted lips were left halfway open as the two teenagers burst through the threshold; Miles, holding the first aid kit, and Gwen gripping white-knuckled onto some tweezers and a small towel. 

Peter turned around to grab them, “Thanks, guys.” All they did was give him a worried nod, eyes glancing between your hand and your face. Between the two, Miles was the one who expressed his concern for you more openly, but Gwen barely knew you- she didn’t know how to handle it all. 

When they continued to watch hesitantly in the doorway, Peter sighed and gave them a look over his shoulder. “Give us a minute, will ya?” 

“Right, yeah. We’ll just… wait out here.” Gwen thumbed to the area behind her while Miles merely nodded along with her words. 

When they were out of sight, you stared guiltily at the man working on your wound. “You look tired, Peter.” It was the first thing that popped up in your head, and you cursed your unpredictable self for speaking without thinking it through. 

"It’s because I am.” He replied, eyes never leaving your hand as he used the tweezers to pick out the tiny shards lodged in your skin. 

Your hand reached forward and you discarded the brown curl that had fallen against his forehead. “You’re from another universe, aren’t you?” His eyes glanced momentarily at you before regaining focus on his task. “That’s why you’re here- that’s why you look so much like him even though you aren’t.”

He stayed silent. 

“Peter never kept a secret from me,” you began, voice raw. “He told me everything including the consequences of fighting against Fisk again.” 

“You shouldn’t have been involved. Didn’t he ever think about how this would have affected you?” He sounded irritated now, almost angry. 

“It wasn’t his decision to make,” you argued with a hoarse voice, brows scrunching in your objection. “Plus, it’s already too late for that lecture. I knew what I was getting myself into the moment he crashed through my roof.” 

You twirled the ring around your finger, the action catching Peter’s attention for a brief second but then he was back to cleaning your hand. His breath would hitch every time you recoiled from the pain, he tried his best to be as careful as he could, as gentle and fragile. 

“Is that how you two met?” He inquired, half of him was curious, but the other half wanted to take your mind off the pain. 

For the first time in days, a small and almost unnoticeable grin stretched across your lips. Your eyes crinkled at the corners as you gave a distracted nod, “I was working late, so oblivious to what was going on around me and then he crashed right through. It was comical, really- the way he handled it all.” 

Peter felt a smile growing upon his lips at the sheer affection on your face. It was a nice thing to witness; you being so irrevocably awe-struck. He liked seeing you this way because with you bring hurt was quite possibly the worse thing he could endure. 

“What about you?” Your focus levitated over to him, watching the way his face muscles twitched in retaliation. 

He squirmed, his gaze wavering, daring to meet yours, but forcing himself to clean your hand. The only thing he had left to do was wrap it up. 

“Do you have anyone?” Your voice dropped, hesitance seeping through. 

“It- It’s complicated.” He replied, voice coming out high pitched. How was he going to tell you that you weren’t together in his universe? How would he be able to look you in the eye and tell you that the reason why you were no longer his was because he pushed you away? Tell you that he was scared? 

Answer: He didn’t. 

When he finished wrapping up your hand, he shifted away and started to clean the area around you. You took this time to examine the work he did, attentively prodding the white bandage encased around your hand. You clenched and unclenched, wincing once you realized it was a terrible idea to do so. 

At his reply, you knew. 

“Was it me? I mean-” your eyes flew up to the ceiling, trying to search for a way to proceed. “Did something tear you apart?”

He shook his head vehemently, eyes wild as they searched your face. “No. It wasn’t you- well  _her_ \- it wasn’t (Name). It was…” he breathed out through his nose. “It was me.”

Your head turned to watch him closely, eyes squinted. “What did you do?” 

“After I lost Aunt May-” he noticed your eyes go wide, but he didn’t stop. “I just… things slowly started to escalate.” As he finished tidying up, he went to lean against the wall of the bathroom.  

He breathed deeply as if the next thing he’d say would physically cause an ache in his chest. “I  _think_ \- no- I  _know_  I broke her heart.” 

It was an instinct to get up, to walk over to him, to help ease his sorrow. There was so much of it, and you would do anything not to see him so hurt. Even if he wasn’t your Peter, he never deserved to be in pain. Watching him in pain caused a severe wave of raw desperation to overcome you, and suddenly you knew that his pain was just as primal,  _just as numbing_ , as yours was. 

His eyes lowered, watching you curiously as the natural impulse to comfort him was obvious within the way you guarded yourself. “You were always so selfless,” he whispered, regarding your overture as the pure will to comfort anyone who needed it. There was this innocent peculiarity about you that made it difficult for him to tell you apart from the woman he was in love with back in his universe. No sizable differences, nothing was different. As time continued on, so did his infatuation with you. 

You tilted your head, ignoring his comment. “I’m so sorry, Pete.” 

“Don’t apologize. You  _never_ have to apologize to me.” 

Something inside of you stirred; a small awakening. You felt yourself take a step closer to him and his eyes never left yours. The air grew thick, tense. Using the hand that wasn’t wrapped, you reached for his larger one, shuddering at the contact and warmth it radiated. 

 _God_ , what you would give to curl up in his embrace.

Your fingers curled around his, finding solidarity within the hand that encapsulated yours. His other hand touched your side, and then he let his fingers glide agonizingly slow up until he was cupping your cheek. 

What were you doing? This wasn’t-  _you couldn’t do this_.

But neither could you stop yourself from leaning into his touch, while your eyes fluttered closed. It felt right and nice and warm  _and_ -

“(Name)?”

You opened your eyes, finding him already staring at you in that way that made your toes curl. So much emotion was in his eyes, casted across his face. He was in a state of hopelessness, something you rarely had the privilege of seeing from the Peter you knew in this world.

“We should…”

“Yeah.” You mumbled, words almost inaudible. He was right, but you couldn’t tear yourself away. 

“Ahem.”

You both pulled away from each other, dismayed by the scarce synchronicity in doing so. After noticing that both Gwen and Miles were standing in the doorway- looking a bit embarrassed by the interruption they provided reluctantly- you awkwardly mussed your hair, avoiding Peter’s eyes. He was rubbing at his neck, cheeks colored a rosy red. 

“We really need to be going, Peter…” Miles said, his voice veiling an ample amount of despondency. It looked like there was literally anything else he wanted to be doing in that moment, anything other than being the bearer of bad news. 

He didn’t want to be the one to take Peter away from you, not when you just got to see him again. Even if it hadn’t been  _your_  Peter in the first place. It was cruel of him, he realized. 

“Right, you came here for something. What did you need? I still haven’t packed up Peter’s things yet.” You admitted sheepishly. 

You didn’t know when you’d have the energy or courage to pack up all of his things, especially since you didn’t want to get rid of them. There were still so much you wanted to keep, to remember him by. Taking away all of his things would be like stripping you bare of his memories, and you knew that was something that would hurt more than any injury you’ve ever suffered through. 

“You’re getting rid of his things?” Peter asked as you maneuvered your way back into your room, feeling the eyes of all three of your visitors on your back. 

“No,” and then you paused, shaking your head. “I don’t know.” 

_I don’t think I can get rid of him that easily._

( ** _”You don’t have to.”_** )

At the sound of his voice, bouncing off the walls of your mind, you stopped. Instead of freaking out like you’d normally do in this situation, you just let his words wash over you in a blanket of sentiment. 

“(Name)?”

“Hm?” You turned around, eyeing the overeager expressions on their face. 

“We wanted to know if you had another one of these,” Peter replied, holding out his hand to reveal a worn out USB drive. 

You took it and examined it carefully, “The Super Collider?” They all seemed very stunned by your knowledge of it. “Yeah, Peter had an extra copy,” you pursed your lips and shrugged your shoulders, handing it back to him. “Just in case of… unplanned events.” 

“ _Amazing!_  Would it happen to be  _here_?” Peter inquired, clasping his hands together excitedly. 

( _ **”Top drawer.”**_ )

“Yes! In the top drawer.” You walked over to the dresser that occupied some of Peter’s old clothes. 

( _ **”Atta girl.”**_ )

A sense of pride swelled up in your chest while searching for the small device. You pulled it out with a soft,  _“Yay!”_  Turning around you handed it to Peter with a bashful grin. 

He seemed to be in awe of how smiling looked on you. It had such a tremendous effect on him that with just one glance you’d be able to see his cheeks redden. 

“Thank you, Ms. (Last name)!”

“Miles, I told you to call me (Name),” you joked lightly, watching the over-enthusiastic teenager stare at you as if you were some higher level power. “Calling me that makes me sound old.” 

He merely beamed back at you, showing you his pearly whites. Miles always made your heart swell, and every time he bored that softer side, you wished- in that moment- that you had a child of your own to praise. 

“Alright, we should get going.” 

Your eyes darted over to meet Peter’s and before you could ask what they were going to do with the device, Miles and Gwen cleared their throats and patted him on the back. Somber expression stretched across their faces, eyes darting from you then over to him and repeating then settling on just leaving the room. Miles shouted a sweet, ‘ _Bye, (Name)_!’ over his shoulder and you waved back like the proud mother figure you were. 

Silence engulfed you once more. 

“Hey, uh, I-”

“ _Don’t_.” It came out as a warning, to further obliterate any fleeting emotions. 

Peter gripped the drive in his hand, holding it to his chest while he gave you one of his more popular and adorable head tilts. “He’d be proud of you, (Name). I need you to know that.” 

“I do.” You lowered your hand and stood up straighter, showing him that there was no need to remind you. 

Everything felt like it was falling apart because you knew he had to go, you knew this would be the last time you ever saw him- or at least another version of him. You needed time to slow down, lately, it hasn’t been on your side. 

You’d say that you didn’t notice the utter and desperate infatuation shining in his eyes, but that would’ve been a lie. It was a look you weren’t unfamiliar with, yet you chose to say nothing. 

“You gonna be alright without me?” He questioned, eyes soft. 

It was a question to consider, and take into terms. A heavy sensation inundated you at the mere thought of being alone once again because yes, you would feel that grief, you would feel absolutely heartbroken, there wouldn’t be another encounter like this- and probably for a while. But you knew that Peter also had his own life, his own safe haven, his own reason to live. He couldn’t just leave that life behind and the truth of it all tore your heart to shreds. 

“I think so,” you nodded, the corners of your lips quirking up ever so slightly. 

He whispered a gentle, “ _I think so too_ ,” as contentment tinged his cheeks, giving him that puppyish, youthful sort of glow. 

In what felt like an eternity, the two of you happened to find a semblance of pure bliss within a brief moment of shared looks. You wanted to preserve time, as much time as you could considering it was limited. “Go,” you nodded towards the door as he gave you a look so complex, so uncharted that it almost made you want to keep him there, to rejoice in his presence for as long as you could. There was a certain helplessness that compromised you in that moment, branding you as the true rebellion, the one who was at fault once again among the billions of times you’ve succumbed to his silent testaments. “Or else I’ll have this insane urge to keep you all to myself.” 

He pursed his lips, incapable of concealing the utter stargaze expression on his face courtesy of your endearing words. It seemed like every little thing you said had him hooked, and when he thought he was losing balance, you came back and anchored him. 

A sudden thought had him raising his hand and bringing it to his forehead, giving you a flamboyant salute. “Yes, Ma’am.” 

Under a minuscule of a second, you had recognized the bittersweet mannerism with all implication of a scourge. Your head flashed, flickered, blurred with memories from almost a year ago; infecting, marking, branding your mind with abandonment once again. 

He noticed the saddening expression etching itself involuntarily across your face and immediately dropped his hand. “Hey,” he lilted. You were at a faraway place, perhaps in another reality, and all he yearned to do was bring you back because he was missing the innocence that had previously embellished the specks in your eyes. “You’ll be okay.” 

“I’ll be okay.” 

But were you strong enough to let him go? Somehow he had managed to interweave his way into your heart within a matter of minutes, hours even, and there was no removing what had already been claimed by him. 

He sighed and gave you a relieved nod. 

“Peter, come  _on!_ ” 

Gwen’s voice echoed throughout the interior your apartment walls, causing Peter to roll his eyes- a gesture you found suitable for him. 

“I better get going.” He backpedaled, scratching at his earlobe while maintaining eye contact with you. He smiled and you knew his smile alone would lead you to the gates of heaven. “Goodbye, (Name).”

Oblivion was calling your name right about now. 

“Bye, Peter.” 

And then you let it eat you up completely until you were stripped bare and vulnerable. 

You watched distantly as he disappeared from your sight, your heart heavy in your chest. Tears blurred your vision and you cursed the heaven’s above for your heartache, for giving you this perfect opportunity to have this second chance and then snuffing that possibility right out from underneath your fingertips and corrupting you with this everlasting homesickness. 

It wasn’t fair. 

( _ **”I’m sorry.”**_ )

You sucked in a gasp, rubbing at your face, clearing all signs of grief. A sudden tug in the direction of your bed urged you to sit down. “Why are you sorry? You aren’t here to make me feel better.” 

( _ **”Ouch.”**_ )

You cringed, fighting back the urge to continue communicating with your psychedelic trip of sorts. From the beginning, you knew this couldn’t be your Peter- it was obvious that you were just hallucinating his voice in your head, but  _God_ \- you couldn’t help but want to think it was real. 

“Just leave me alone,” you groaned, hiding your face into your hands as you tucked your knees underneath your chin. It was a defense mechanism, something you switched on whenever you felt mentally threatened. Obviously, this was the right moment. Everything felt cold around you, like little icicles pin pricking at your skin. Why did this crashing wave of melancholy have to drown you whole? “You’re making it worse.” 

You missed your Peter. Wow, you really missed him and every time you thought about him, smelt him,  _craved him_ , it was like tearing open a flesh wound, not knowing how to staunch the blood flow. 

Could you possibly miss someone this much? To where your entire existence feels insignificant because of the love you’ve lost. You didn’t think sorrow could be so brutal, relentless. 

( ** _”I’m not going anywhere, (Name). I promised you, remember?”_** )

A ghost of a touch lightly trailed over your cheek, warmth following. Before you could comprehend what was happening, images upon images unfurled within the palace of your mind; corrupting, painting, dancing. 

_Instead of sitting on your bed, you were on a roof underneath the inky, acronycal sky. Stars beyond stars transformed into their rightful places, exemplifying the full moon. Something weightless draped across your shoulders, and you turned to catch sight of blue eyes and a goofy, boyish grin._

_“Thanks.” You whispered, leaning into his side, head falling restlessly upon his shoulder. His arms immediately went to wrap itself around your waist, drawing you further into him. You shivered with delight as he pressed a sweet, debauched smooch to your temple._

_“You’re welcome.” His voice felt like velvet against your skin._

_You remembered this night; it was cold out, and all you could manage to think about was how close he came to almost dying the night before. When he came home that night, he found you curled up in your sheets, fetal position and cocooned inside your emotional shell of distress. At the sight of you so helpless, he wanted to shelter you from the hurt, from all of it._

_Tonight was the night he was going to turn your life around. And with just the mutter of those four little words that were so little yet meant the entire world to you. Well, it was only two words from the way he worded them, and he didn’t ask you. He begged you._

_“Marry me.”  
_

_“I beg your pardon?” You laughed, feeling him tense under you.  
_

_“( **Name** ), I’m being serious.” He whined, and you looked up to see him pout, the sight of it adorable- more adorable than your heart could take. It was truly baffling how you so naively overlooked the stars that shimmered just a little bit too long, and a bit brighter, in his eyes as he stared. And you, well, you didn’t even have to do anything or say anything, all you had to do was exist, be there by his side, and he would forever be at your mercy.  
_

_“Peter-”  
_

_“No. I know what you’re going to say, and you don’t have to. I already know,” he brought you around to fully face him, eyes shining with desperation and raw infatuation as you stared back at him. “You’re afraid we might lose each other in this fickle game of tug of war, but I know-” he moved his hands to cup both of your cheeks, anchoring his forehead onto yours, searching you. “You’re afraid of that risk. Even the mention of it scares you, and trust me, it scares me too. Matter of fact, I’m terrified and the thought of losing you feels like a punch to the gut.”  
_

_Tears formed in your eyes, and he became blurry in your vision, but you hung on to every word._

_“Not having you for the rest of my life would break my heart actually,” his face softened. “But I want to risk it all with you. You’re the one I want to risk everything with because you make me feel like I could touch the sun and not get burned.” He laughed and the sound made your insides turn to mush. “You are… precious to me.”  
_

_“I-” you could admit that in that moment, you were torn, soul screaming to give in, mind racing with rampaging thoughts. “I don’t want to lose you.”  
_

_“Oh sweetheart,” he screwed his eyes shut, kissing your forehead ardently, such a burning, bruising force. He pulled away, “That will **never**  happen.”_

Yet it happened all the same. 

And now you were alone once again.


	5. break through the cracks; | ripeter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning(s): mentions of drugs and contemplation of suicide, just angst - and then yes, fluff towards the end :’)
> 
> p.s. this is in drabble format, so that is why there is no capitalization, etc.

it was the fear of losing you that really pushed him over the edge, the fuel to his blinding rage. you’d never seen him this…  _feral_. nor had you ever been at the receiving end of it. he never  _hit_ you- never even thought to lay a single wicked finger on you, but in this moment, in this traumatizing moment of heavy breathing, noticeable wary flinches, and blurry vision, you’re sure that now is the time to be aware of him. 

his voice is so loud, possibly louder than the sounds of your screams as he tears picture frames off their beloved places, sinks his hands into the walls surrounding you, shouts until you’re sure his lungs are ripping apart, bleeding, his pain soaking into each and every intake of exaggerated breaths. 

you wail, telling him to stop- stop being too damn loud because his voice shakes the ceiling, rattles the floor below. you cower back, flinching every time his fist slams into the wall next to you and throw your hands up to shield your face that twists into horror, tears streaming down your cheeks at an unstoppable speed. you rock back and forth, back banging into the wall that keeps you from swaying. in your drug-induced, half drowsy state, you are no longer sure about your safety. peter has gone ballistic in his vehemence, teeth clenched eyes narrowed into slits, veins popping out of his forehead. 

and this is all because you tried committing suicide by taking yourself up to the roof of your apartment building and jumping off the ledge. before your body could even meet its ultimate end, spider-man- peter- swooped in to save you. 

he’s crying now, babbling, throwing his fist up to his mouth, sobbing against the restriction as he paces the length of the carpet in front of you. from your curled up position, you peek out into the open space between the creases of your fingers, watching as peter pulls maddeningly at the roots of his hair. his chest heaves and falls then heaves and falls and it repeats, revealing just how much energy he has wasted. 

you grow silent, your voice now raw and tasting of copper. and just like that, as if your silence brought him back to reality, he stops pacing, his shouts now reducing into soft self-spoken whispers. turning to face you, you notice- with a lingering sorrow- that his face has completely dropped, drained of all color. he visibly deflates right where he stands and almost immediately, he is dropping to his knees by your side. his hands reach out for you, but as previous childhood trauma exists within your fragile human mind, you pull back with a harsh tug, hiding, caving beneath all that’s been said and done. 

his face contorts into a painful expression, it almost as if your rejection to his comfort was unbearable to him. “(name), i would  _never_ hurt you.” his voice croaks, meager and bittersweet on his tongue. tears spring anew, overflowing in his beautiful baby blues, tumbling down his pallid cheeks. he takes in your flaccid form with a crestfallen expression, loathing himself, despising the ill-maintained furor.

his fingers touch your wrist, “sweetheart,  _please_ …” he goes in for another try, carefully taking your wrists and securing his hands around them before unveiling your hands from your face. his breath hitches, taking in the sight before him, heart shattering at your vulnerability in that moment.

the mascara that curls through your lashes now streaks down your cheeks, mixing in with your tears. now the black liquid covers both of your cheeks, stains the area underneath your eyes, and runs steadily down your wobbly chin. you gave up trying to rub it away, your cowardly vices causing your brain to hinder, your thoughts to corrupt, to jumble together, creating this empty vessel of a woman. 

peter knows that you aren’t exactly mentally stable right now, losing a family member does that to a person, but with you it’s more intense, more endangering to you and to others around you. that’s why peter makes sure to watch you closely, to make sure that you couldn’t hurt yourself. 

and that’s exactly what he did. quickly after returning home from the funeral, he took care of you, watched you, followed you to work, followed you back home. none of it was out of the ordinary- you looked perfect. 

but now he’s realizing that it was all a facade to get him to believe you were actually alright when you  _weren’t_. you are nowhere near alright, you are hurting inside and his outburst hadn’t made any of it better for you. 

“i didn’t- i didn’t want to die.” you mumble, eyes falling away from his unwavering expression. you look down at your hands, they look blurry to you. a tear slides down your cheek, and you sniffle, but it turns into a desperate gasp of air. “i- i was just so lost,” slowly, your face begins to twist, and just like that you crumble. sobs wrack your frail form with the force of an earthquake, and you tuck your knees underneath your chin, eyes screwing shut in hopes to alleviate your emotional draining pain. you choke on your sobs, “i’m sorry. i- i never wanted to leave you, peter. i could never. i’m so-  _so_  sorry.”

peter cries with you, soft broken whimpers falling from his lips. he shifts over to your side and protectively tucks you into his side. your face is pressed gently against his chest, his hands are consoling you; one at your arm and the other at your back. he rubs and soothes and rubs some more, drawing small patterns until he notices your breathing level out. 

“i forgive you.” he whispers it, so soft and sincerely, his own voice raw and hoarse. he means it, you can tell. through your bleary haze of badly hibernated emotions, you know he means it. 

and you will spend the rest of your life making it up to him. 


	6. chubby love; | peter b. parker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning(s): things get steamy towards the end, so i’ll just rate this pg-13 just in case people are overly sensitive to that stuff. it’s mostly fluff though. 
> 
> p.s. another drabble! so expect a different format and style.

peter watches you from afar, eyes dancing innocently over your bare thighs, taking in the structure of them. he stares as you tuck your legs underneath you, pushing the hem of your beige turtleneck sweater further down your thighs, covering your skin. it’s an involuntary thing, something you do as a habit because you’re not one to show off a lot of skin. he knows it’s simply because you feel exposed that way, and yet even despite the many times he’s told you that your body is perfect, that your skin- though slightly marked with scars- is  _perfect_ , you cannot find it in yourself to be too comfortable about it. 

a tenderhearted smile unfolds across his face as you stare wide-eyed and shocked down at the book that seems to have your contiguous focus. you are absolutely immersed into the fantasy world printed out on those pages, and peter can’t help but fall even harder for you during this delicate moment. with you, it’s just so easy to, there was an ultimate pleasure of being yours. 

“ _you’re staring again_ ,” you coo, flipping to the next page, eyes never wavering from your book. he notices the slight timid quirk of your lips, sending his heart reeling with affection. “you know it distracts me, pete.”

“you seem to be doing just perfect to me.” he praises, voice filled with lethargy from the early morning haze he is still trying to shake himself out of. you’d been up a while, he realizes; the dark circles rimming around your eyes. you laugh breathlessly, the sound enough to make his cells vibrate with pleasure. 

you’re laughing while shaking your head, your hair veiling your face for a brief moment before you smooth your fingers through the strands, throwing it over to the side so it hangs on one side of your head. you are a sight for sore eyes, something utterly ethereal and other worldly. he can’t describe the feeling- never has been able to do that- because you are simply too complex in all your imperfect glory. 

finally tearing your eyes away from your book, you say, “that was so lame.” and the words fall naturally off your lips, so lighthearted yet filled with an overwhelmingly amount of endearment. reserved for him and  _only_ him. 

“but it’s true.”

your focus goes back to your book, eyes darting from one edge of the page to the other. “sure, sweetheart.” 

you really didn’t believe so; he knew that much. he knew of your insecurities because it was the first thing he got to learn about you when he met you all those years ago. even still, the superhero is head over heels, madly in love with you. there were moment where he thought his heart would settle, that it he would have more time to catch his breath before it would proceed to its natural routine in fluttering, racing, pounding every time you spoke or laughed or even looked at him. but his heart was a rebel, uncontrolled; made to synchronize with your own more fragile one. god, there were things he would do for you that not even  _himself_ could comprehend. you made him that way- this love exists because of you. this  _chubby, goofy_  type of love. 

he cherishes you. 

he sighs, noting the lack of conversation following right after and decided to clamber out of his bed. he tiptoes over to your side, kneeling down next to you as you sit peacefully in the loveseat. before he can even think of something to say to you, he takes a moment to gaze at you, entirely too heavenward for his mind to create words. the sunlight peeks through the curtains, the sun’s rays dance, glimmer, shine and reflect off your skin in the most primitive way. you bite on your lower lip and he almost shuts down right then and there. 

“ _really_?” you sigh, looking at him through long, fluttering lashes. there’s this childlike radiance shining in your eyes. he takes a mental picture of you in this position of the mischievous grin blooming, tilting at your lips.

he shies away, his heart telling him to give you space, but then he pulls himself back and with reddening cheeks, he whispers those three little words that have a tremendous effect on you, “you are perfect.” and to emphasize his heartfelt declaration of love, he pushes up the hem of your sweater, just enough to show off the bareness of your skin, and presses his lips there. his lips are soft and gentle and caring, if you were to analyze further you’d be able to feel the love washing off of him in waves. 

he isn’t done though, not even when he hears the automatic purr creeping up your throat. you only release it when his lips move further up, you have to untuck your legs from underneath you for him to ease upwards, book now long forgotten about. it falls off the arm of the chair, but it doesn’t matter in this moment. 

“i love your legs-” he pauses to reveal more skin, lips brushing over your extra pudginess. “i love your thighs-” the husky timber of his voice causing goosebumps to erupt over your skin. “i love your tummy-” he curls his head under your shirt, face hidden behind the cotton fabric, lips sinking, easing into your chubby stomach. you tense up, and he notices, but he only continues to give you affection. 

by now your cheeks are ablaze, hot with embarrassment or for the plain fact that it  _feels so good_. peter always knows how to make you feel good, sometimes it’s overwhelming in that too-good-to-be-true type of way. 

“peter…” you sigh feebly. 

his head pokes out from underneath your shirt, the lust and hunger and affection all emerging, tethering, connecting in his brown eyes. he looks at you expectantly, hands still holding onto the hem of your shirt. he won’t continue if you are uncomfortable, if you tell him to stop, he won’t take more than a second to oblige to your softer demand. 

“please, keep going.” 

and so he does. 


	7. serenity begins and ends with him; | peter b. parker

“stop  _staring_  at me.” 

you turn your head away, holding your clenched fist against your mouth as you try to force the urge to turn back around away, far away to the point of it being nonexistent.

a sigh, so loud and obnoxious- even to yourself- releases like the helium from a balloon. without turning your full body, you cast a wary- almost eager- glance over your shoulder. you fidget with the hem of your over-sized acdc shirt, pulling at the loose cotton string that tears from the adjoined fabric. the red and blue colors, from the object of your fascination, flash like a visionary in your peripherals. you gulp, slowly craning your head further to get a more casual look, but end up just shifting your body completely to stare at it in all its magnified glory.

“i’m gonna get caught,” you mutter, nibbling at your thumbnail. “he’ll walk right in and catch me.”

_but he’s not_   _ **home**_. it’s a wavering, distant thought. bursting through your cranium at lightening speed, leaving a trail of hope despite the absolute cynicism that follows.

“oh, what the heck,” you jump up from the chair, eyeing your boyfriend’s suit like it was a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. taking tentative steps, you finally bring yourself to let your fingers dance across the shiny spandex, its texture not foreign beneath your fingertips. 

a nostalgic grin stretches across your lips, primarily driven from the emotions that flare alarmingly within the pit of your stomach. images-  _memories_ \- flicker, waver, shift through your mind, providing you with a rather homesick sensation. you remember times when peter took you out for a swing a time or two just because he felt like it, because he knew you enjoyed it so damn much. he always did those things for you, never once telling you ‘no’ from the utter fact that he was in love with you. still is, ‘till this day; almost twenty years passed and the man absolutely bends to your will from a single blissful whisper of his name on your lips.

“he’s at work,” you tell yourself, having another urge to bite on your nails, but forcing them to stay glued to the beautiful sight of his suit sprawled over the arm of the couch. “won’t be home for another-” you bring your wrist up, checking the time on your watch. “-twenty minutes. _no big deal_.” 

except that it  _is_.

if your boyfriend catches you in his suit, you know that the man will never let you live it down, not by a single chance- not even if you  _beg_  him.

you sigh again, and say ‘screw it!’ because if there is a time to be reckless and naive and- well- ridiculous, then that time is  _now_.

minutes later you find yourself in his suit, pulling the mask over your head, shielding your face from the outside world. the first thing you really take notice in is that it completely smells of him; the scent triggers that homesick feeling once more and you bring your arms over your chest as if to hug the suit into you.

serenity begins with being inside his suit.

what you notice next is just how undeniably warm it is. you inhale and then release, feeling heavenward. you hum as sheer enchantment coaxes you over to plop onto the couch, to curl up into a ball and become the precise epitome of that once giddy school girl you used to be.

you’re too immersed in this magical moment that you don’t hear jingling of house keys, the swish of the door as it opens precariously, or the nearing of footsteps against the cobblestone floor.

“do you plan on sleeping in that? because i sort of need it.”

you screech, bolting upright; the impact of the sudden appearance of another body sending you tumbling off the couch and onto your ass. an inaudible ‘ _oof_ ’ flees past your lips, barely noticeable to your boyfriend who stands idly behind the couch you previously occupied.

through the lenses of the mask, you see the surrealistic amenity of it. the way he bares a warm amusement towards you, his lips twitching in his suppressed adoration towards you. in this very moment, you are entirely too embarrassed to move, to speak, to even have the strength to look away because you know that if you do, he’ll only take that as an invitation to laugh at you.

he stands up straight, his brown eyes twinkling with endearment for the poor sap that is you. a sigh, filled with eudemonia and a childlike tenderness you cannot comprehend, replenishes the room. his face twists only slightly before he’s walking around the couch and kneeling down next to you, letting his eyes roam the loose fitting suit.

“you could have just asked.” the words fall from his lips in a whispered awe, his expression- although still slightly morphed into one of bemusement- counters the more lovestruck sight before you.

he’s a giddy mess, bringing his clenched fist up to his mouth while trying to veil the ill-mannered, foolish giggles that threaten to break free. you can see the suppressed laughter he keeps in from the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

“don’t you  _dare_ , peter benjamin parker,” you warn, heaving yourself up into a sitting position with the help of your palms. you shed the mask, revealing your slightly flustered face. “you laugh, you pay the consequences.” 

“oh? and what are these mighty consequences you so bravely speak of?” he taunts, helping you the remainder of the way up so you are standing on your feet. 

“i’ll shower in it. the suit will be drenched in water.” 

“it has an automatic air dryer installed.” 

“then i’ll-  _i’ll-_ ” before you can get another word out, his lips brush against yours before completely pulling you into him. you moan, having been taken off-guard from the sudden shift in reality, his lips being that of an other worldly phenomenon. his lips are warm and inviting, creating the cells in your body to burst into an abundance of refreshing sensations. his tongue mingles with yours and suddenly you’re panting into his mouth, devouring his taste, clinging onto him as if he is your safe harbor.

he pulls back with a breathless laugh, and you stare up at him through crossed eyes.

“how about we get you out of that suit my way.” 

and with every yearning twitch of your muscles, you deflate and give in, knowing that your will manages to bend to his demand unavoidably, just like his does with yours.

he throws you over his shoulder and you let out a shriek, gleefully letting him carry you to bed.

at the end of it all, you know that serenity will  _always_  begin with  _him_.

 


	8. contritum | peter b. parker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a very short angst drabble. good luck.

**_// i know we said goodbye but i didn’t know it was forever - bridgett devoue //_ **

you weren’t one for giving up so easily, but when the pain became too much to bare, when you weren’t able to hold it all back anymore, the pieces inside of you slowly started to break and fall apart. when you tried holding them altogether, they would only become heavier. your once fragile hands became filthy, numb. your time was running out, and no matter how much you just wanted it to be over- how much you wanted to rot away with the loss of the one person you cared deeply for- pain took its time with you. 

pain was unforgiving. and it was the thing that started it all. it completely broke you. 

peter knew something like this would happen. he knew that loving you would come at a price. loving you would be the ultimate death of him. loving you was like loving something surreal, phantasmal. 

“you can’t go. not like this.” 

the rain outside came down harsh. little droplets turned into bigger ones. 

you glanced away from the window and looked over at peter. he was a broken man, yet you were the one in pain. you weren’t the one who lost him. he lost  _you_. 

“i don’t want to stay here,” you cried softly, unintentionally creating blubbering noises from how deeply you’d been crying only moments before. 

his eyes were sore and bloodshot. he had cried with you, but when you had forced yourself to stop, peter didn’t have the strength to. the tears fell steadily down his cheeks and every five minutes he would wipe them away with trembling fingers. 

“but it’s raining outside.” 

you slipped into your coat, avoiding his eyes. “i’m not staying here.” you repeated, feeling the remaining pieces of your heart shatter and break. there couldn’t possibly be something more excruciating than this. 

you would rather be stabbed to death. 

“(name), please. please, for the love of god-”

“no!” your voice rose, breaking when you locked eyes with him. “you don’t get to do that. not anymore, peter. goddammit-  _not any more_!”

he flinched, bottom lip trembling. once more, his eyes filled to the brim with his pain, with the unrelenting force of your backlash. 

if there was anything he deserved, it was knowing that he was the cause of your pain. 

he deserved it. 

“okay,” he hiccuped, sniffling right after. “just-  _please_  be careful.” 

you didn’t need his sympathy, he didn’t get to say that to you. he had no right to pretend that he actually cared about you. it wasn’t fair. 

“i-i’m-” 

you turned away from him, eyes reflecting the anguish settling in your chest. and you hated that most of the hurting came from the fact that you didn’t want to leave him, no matter how much fault he was in. 

a whimper crawled up your throat when you twisted the knob, but you didn’t cave. you didn’t cave in, you couldn’t do that to yourself. peter may have been the light you clung to for so long, but right now his light was fading. 

“i- i love you.” he whispered hoarsely as you stepped across the threshold. 

“goodbye, peter.”  


	9. hopeful goodbyes | gwen stacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another short drabble :'))

“But- but you  _can’t_  go.”

Your hand fit almost perfectly in hers, and you found yourself never wanting to let it go. She was warm, you concluded as the dismal droplets streaked down your cheeks. 

She was sad to see you so sad. The look on her face was proof that your gut-wrenching grief was tearing her apart inside. In that moment, as she reached up to brush away your tears, she knew that your pain was possibly worse than any physical injury she has ever endured. 

“I can’t stay here, (Name). I wish I could… but-”

“But what?” You whimpered, bringing her hand up to hold it pathetically against your cheek. “Gwen, you- you can’t just pop up in my life, give me all this light, and then  _leave_. It’s- it’s  _not_   _right_.”

Bile rised in her throat, tears blurred her vision, eyes darting rapidly back and forth between your face and the place where you held her hand. 

“I know,” she croaked, letting a hopeful grin stretch beautifully across her lips. “And I shouldn’t have- shouldn’t have-  _God_ , (Name), meeting you has permanently changed me and I wish there was a way to stay here- with you- but I  _can’t_.”

You knew it was true, but falling in love with Gwen was unavoidable. She was this ray of sunshine that you desperately seeked warmth from even despite being surrounded by the crumbling of your universe. Colors encapsulated you, exploded in the skies, veiling the sunlight that determined the realness of your world. They transformed into diamonds and then cracked the longer she didn’t let go of you, the longer she remained in your universe. 

She had to go. 

You looked back over at her, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you surged forward and captured her lips with your own. Her reaction was immediate and innocent. Her lips moved slowly, agonizingly slow, against yours. Inhumane noises, so soft- almost like purrs- crawled up her throat and you deepened the kiss, giving her your all. 

When you pulled away, you leaned your forehead on hers. It was a sweet, delicate moment, one you wanted to last forever. But time was not on your side today. 

“Just promise me you’ll find a way back to me.” It was plea, one so powerful that she felt it resonate throughout her entire body.  

And she promised you. 

She would find a way back to you. No matter what it took. 


	10. mortem | ripeter

“(name)? you’re bleeding… really bad.” 

“yeah, thanks for stating the obvious.” you groan, clutching onto your wound, feeling the coppery blood slip through the creases of your numbing, nimble fingers. they shake, along with your body as it loses too much blood. the gaping wound, which is about the size of a golf ball, penetrates the area under your left breast; it’s phantasmagorical- leaving a bittersweet aftertaste in your mouth. 

shaking your head, you look up and into the eyes of your beloved. he’s pale, every single emotion flashes through his brightening blue eyes as he tries to comprehend your terrible situation. 

“you… you-” 

“jumped in front of an oncoming bullet to save your life? yeah, i did and i don’t regret any of it.” the words leave your lips in painful gasps, puffs of cold air trailing after your tragic, treacherous vow.

“why- why- ( _name_ )-”

“shh, angel,” you croon. you feel your collapse coming and before you can warn peter, your knees give out from beneath you and you fall forward. peter catches you with ease, almost as if you are weightless. a whimper, a broken ‘oof’ forces itself past your purple, bruising lips. as peter eases both himself and you down to the ground, placing your head in his lap as you sputter, coughing on your own blood, you feel the first batch of tears pooling in your eyes. it’s almost foreign to you, now because you’ve waited so long to let the emotions drain out of you. 

“ _no_ …” the crack in his voice is enough to send your heart plummeting down to your stomach. 

“hey, don’t-” you hack, blood now slipping out from the corners of your lips. swiping it away with almost damn near frozen fingers, you pull back to see red. it’s a color that’s always looked good on you, but now, you’re not so sure. you crane your neck so you can stare at peter, just barely noticing his tears as they cascade down his cheeks, only to collect at his chin. “don’t cry, my love.” 

you can feel your lungs narrowing, squeezing, releasing and then repeating. peter tries to ignore the tearing, shattering sensation that emerges from within his chest, but it simply provokes a painful gurgle of unleashed sobs to break free. you cringe at the sound, hating how vulnerable he is in this moment. 

his pain is universal; something that could create a breach within the space time continuum- maybe even a black hole. his pain could shake the earth beneath you, yet it rattles every fiber within your body and you feel yourself losing the strength to keep fighting. 

he brushes the strands of your hair, matted and sticky from your blood, out of your face. your eyes are wide as you stare up at him, breathing intakes becoming laborious. it’s funny how breathing was supposed to come as natural as picking up a pencil, yet you cannot even do something as rudimentary as that. 

“it’s going to be okay,” he croaks softly as if realizing that there is nothing he can do anymore. 

it hurts possibly more than the oozing wound you clutch onto. it hurts to know that even the great, unbreakable spider-man has given up hope. he cannot save you. 

you smile, even as you feel every ounce of your blood gushing, seeping, spilling out of you. soon, a numbness takes over and you can no longer part your lips without using the force of a thousand suns, moons, tsunami waves. it takes every little bit of strength you can muster, and in this moment, there isn’t much. 

it starts to rain. of course it does. when there’s rain, there’s grief.

so you settle for gripping his hand with your own, movements slow, agonizingly slow. your fingers card through his, and he instantly squeezes your hand. you can’t feel the desperate yet gentle squeeze he gives you, but you can see possibly every star in his eyes, every little speck of that golden, innocent, weighing light that seems to overwhelm the burning compassion he holds for you. 

he loves you. you know he does. 

“i’m sorry. i didn’t get to say it- i didn’t- i just want you to know that i- i-”

“ _ssh_ …” you scold, brows barely having the energy to crease and furl. he clutches your hand in his, spidey senses going haywire because time is running out. “i’ll… i’ll… be…  _waiting_ … for- for… you.” 

he shudders, sobs now washing over him like the heavy downpour of raindrops. it soaks through his suit, that one rebel curl flops over his forehead, but even though it has always bothered him, he leaves it be. 

he gives you a nod, but does not smile. he watches helplessly as you inhale one last time. your body deflates, going limp in his arms. your eyes, opened and desolate, stare lifelessly ahead. 

and a cry, a roar of agony, so ungodly, so primal and raw erupts from his lips. 


	11. wherever you go, i’ll follow; | ripeter

you don’t know how you got so lucky with peter. he was like a phenomenon; he was the missing piece to your puzzle. he was the double rainbow after a storm. 

“let’s run away together.” he tells you sincerely one waking morning. blue eyes shining, shimmering, reflecting the most dazzling stars in the skies. he gives you that lopsided grin, arms tightening around you and you look up at him through long lashes. the sheets around you are a bunched up mess sitting at your waists, revealing more skin than you originally had covered when you fell asleep last night. 

you are snug in peter’s embrace, arms tucked around you as is preserving you, keeping you safe. his bare skin is warm, overbearingly so. you soak in his sunshine and then release a breath of air you’d been previously holding in. “but you’re spider-man- you can’t just run away, stop doing what you do. i mean, it’s your legacy, peter.”

“ _no_ ,” he pleas, tucking a strand of your unruly hair behind your ear. “you are my greatest legacy. you  _always_  have been, (name).”

and his words steal the air right out of your lungs. somehow, you manage to restore it, letting out a tremulous breath. the way he’s looking at you makes you want to hide your- no doubt- burning cheeks in the crook of his neck. 

peter is an angel, an ethereal being that you’re sure god sent down from the heavens above just for you. you don’t know  _how_  he does it; he’s always making you weak in the most vulnerable way. in return, you become this lightheaded, swooning, giggly mess and the sight of it only provokes him further. 

this is a puppy love. 

it’s rarer than the cosmos-  _they_  are the envious ones. 

you arch a brow, expression alluring and innocently prying, “why would you want to run away?” is the question that leaves your mouth, no matter how you would just die to hear him say those words one more time. 

“because if there’s a chance of me getting out before something happens, and it’s unavoidable, then i wanna start now. i wanna go wherever you go- there is no greater place on this earth than to stand next to you.” 

you laugh, and it’s one of those bellyaching laughs. peter is confused, a frown tugs on his lips as you hide your face into his bare chest. 

“and now you’re laughing. oh,  _god_ \- was that too cheesy? it was, wasn’t it?” your giggles die down, fading yet lingering as if his mind is a voice recorder. 

“no,” you whisper, face softening as you look back up at him. “no, it was perfect. you’re perfect-” you grab his cheeks, cupping them, squeezing them, pinching them. he is something else. “i love you so much.” 

“so, is that your invitation to run away with me?” he asks hopeful, blue eyes shimmering in the earlier morning sunlight. 

it was then you knew he was dead serious, that he really, truly wanted this. 

“peter, i’ll follow you to the end of the universe.” 


	12. ne tua | peter b. parker

there has always been a space in your heart reserved for your best friend. loving him feels like the first time drinking hot tea; it burns and burns, but then it cools down. there’s a certain warmth that fills you up, consuming your body all over. it’s this desperation that causes your entire being to alight with one single touch. it spreads like a wildfire, destroying every innocent little thing, creating a vulnerability so strong that you suddenly find yourself swaying. you’re careful though, everything about this screams at you to just let go, to give in to this fiery compassion that tears you apart, but you know that there’s a possibility that maybe being burned isn’t the right way to go. 

alas, you stay hidden from his encompassing touches, his shy and smoldering grins, the words that bleed the venom you so desperately want to contaminate yourself with. 

you know deep down that the venom is too strong, that eventually, and with as much self-restraint you can muster, there is no closer shelter than that of his spellbinding earthly brown eyes. they aren’t just that color; there is something in them that hold you captivated, something that tethers you to him. they are the color of your favorite soda, sparkling and refreshing. the color of the dirt after treacherous rains. inside those eyes, you see his zest, an absolute dire authority. 

and in his eyes you see his worth. 

peter b parker is a soul who never deserved to have his heart taken for granted. not in the way his ever-bashful ex-wife bestowed upon him. realizing this comes with consequences. a penalty you are not fully eager to act on. 

the first thing that goes through your mind when peter tells you about the divorce is that you’ll finally be able to confess to him that she was never the one who was supposed to hold his heart. 

you’ll tell him it’s been you all along. tell him that he deserves someone who will never take his weaknesses for granted, never play with the threads that connect to his heart. 

it’s a solid plan. 

except when you arrive at his doorstep, soaking wet and the very image of a puppy dog who had been kicked out into the pouring rain, you realize that this will- in return- bring great ramifications to your glorious friendship. 

peter b parker is your best friend. 

and despite your unconditional love for the broken soul that he bares, you will always admire his blossoming garden. and perhaps you’ll admire his broken fence as well. 

you knock once, then twice. there isn’t an impatient bone in your body when it comes to him. you are entirely too aware of his current situation, so when he opens the door to find you on the other side, it takes everything in you to over look that broken fence just once, just so you have time to collect the wilting roses and scattering petals. 

you release a breath, and he stares down at you as if you wield the answers to his prayers. 

it happens slowly; once the first tear slips free, you are a succumbing mess beneath his wavering salvation. you become the bridge that connects him to his safe haven. he shatters and you surge forward, wrapping your arms around him as if he were a gigantic oak tree and it was your means of survival. 

it’s silent, his vandalizing grief. his hurt cuts deep, deeper than the sharp wittiness he prevails over his already overbearing shoulders. 

you bring him in closer, steady and careful. there isn’t anything you can do, nothing besides comfort him with the intentions of being fragile. 

and that’s all you’ll ever be with him. 


	13. [Come Undone]; | RIPeter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next three updates and pure SMUT!!! I repeat: PURE SMUT!

“Oh,  _god_ …” 

His tongue darts out and then in and out and in, repeating the action while gripping onto your thighs. The area between your thighs is hot, slick and wet, and your mind is a intimate mess. 

     “Peter…” 

Beneath you, Peter grunts huskily and grips at your ass. Nothing will keep him from pleasuring you until you are a withering mess above him. Your core glistens, your excitement dripping onto him, coating and teasing. He loses himself from the taste of you, from the heat; you are a desperate mess and he is enjoying every last bit of it. 

     “Oh, yeah.  _Fuck_ –” you start to bounce on his tongue, creating more friction. The sounds releasing from your throat are uncontrollable, unavoidable. You lurch forward and grip onto the headboard so you have a better angle, a better view of Peter’s eager expression underneath your weakening, crumbling form.

 _God_ , this feels like waves of euphoria crashing over you with the force of a rocket getting ready for take off. The intensity, the slight humidity that inundates the air around you, covering you both in that midnight glow of intimacy. Everything in this moment is pure phantasmagorical. 

     “ _Mm_ …” The sounds of his hands gripping and pulling and pinching at your wet and slick skin causes the pleasure to build up. You moan and gasp and he grunts and devours your pussy as if it were his last meal on earth. You can feel your eyes rolling back the faster he performs his savoring act; your walls close in, your body jerks and soon enough you feel him lapping the texture of the aftermath. 

Climbing off, you plop down next to him and curl into his side, breathing heavy, cheeks hot and sweaty. You wrap your arms around him, loving the warmth that radiates off his bare skin as he cranes you further into him. You breathe out as if you had almost drowned, “ _Wow_.” 

     “Yeah.” He remarks, his chest rising and falling rapidly. 

Through your lashes you look up and catch a glimpse of his elation, his casual, tender excitement. It’s contagious because soon the sensation takes it’s unapologetic reign in your bones, settling over your chest and provoking you to reach up and pull his lips back down on your own. He tastes of you, which causes the previous stowed arousal to rise once again. 

     “Wanna go for round two?” You mutter against his lips, knowing his sex drive is like that of a dog- yet somehow twice as stronger. 

He only pulls you on top of him, “You read my mind.” 

Tonight is going to be a  _long_  night. 


	14. [In A Moment of Vulnerability]; | RIPeter

The air leaves your lungs in a rush of unyielding ecstasy. 

Your back collides onto the bed beneath you, and his hands are desperate as they slide up your soaked blouse. In one quick move, he tears it off you, baring the absolute vulnerability to his tear-filled, dire blue eyes. 

His hands don’t just stop there-  _no_ \- they skim down and unzip your jeans. You let him slide them off of you, your hands finding the sheet below and gripping; white knuckled and tense. 

Next, come your panties, which are already soaked through. He notices too- he can  _smell you_  and it’s driving him  _insane_. 

Everything in this moment is fragile.  _Just like you_ , he tells you as he leans forward and presses into you, lips finding yours in a searing passion, tugging, biting, nipping. A moan escapes you, the pleasure is building up and all you want to do in this moment is take his clothes off. You want him naked- you want him  _vulnerable_ as you are. 

Not that it’s not already a vulnerable moment. 

You anchor him over you, hands reaching for his buckle and unzipping his jeans. You can feel his arousal through the thick fabric, the reality of it causing you to squirm and gasp and writhe. He helps you with shedding his jeans and before they are fully off, you are already pulling his boxers down, heart pounding, racing,  _fluttering_. 

His shaft springs free, and you moan childishly at how hard it already is. Impatiently, you wrap your hand around him, pumping slowly and watching him quake above you. He tips his head back, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he groans and grunts, eyes fluttering closed. 

The sounds leaving his lips are enough to bring you over the edge. 

You waste no time in pulling him down, the tip already leaking pre-cum. Slowly and with ease, you rub him over your throbbing clit, moaning in sync with him, wanting him even more, yet wanting to tease him even after almost losing each other. 

You hadn’t even gotten the rest of your clothes off and already you were wanting him, wanting each other. You tell yourself that it’s because you almost lost each other that you want to prove to yourself that you never could. 

     “ _Shit_ -” he grunts, voice rough and tense as he catches your heavenward expression in the pale moonlight. It’s enough to ease him further down, hovering over you,  _keening_. He breathes out and leans down, pulling the your bra down to free your tender breasts. Wrapping the swollen bud with his lips, he sucks, tugs, licks, flicks; you shudder, keeping the tip of his shaft at the entrance of your pussy. 

Teasing him always ends with leaving you worn out and too weak to even stand. That’s exactly what you need right now. 

     “I love you,” you whimper; a desperate sound crawling up your throat. You rub him up and down your clit, breathing labored, heavy, as he continues to create marks over your needy, swollen breasts. He takes each bud into his mouth and leaves you whining. 

     “ _I love you_.” He says it like he’s afraid he might not be able to say it again.  _I almost lost you_ , his body aches.

     “I want you,” you croon, the sound echoing off the walls of your bedroom. 

He grunts and eases himself into you, gentle and careful. His hands find themselves on your waist, gripping, pawing, grounding you. You count to five and then release a straight up pornographic moan and within seconds- just like always- he begins to fuck you slow and steady, taking his time to build it all up. 

You grip his broad shoulders, head pushing into the mattress beneath you. You bring your legs up to wrap around him while sinking your nails into his skin, creating red marks from the biting pleasure of euphoria that fills you whole. “F-faster, Peter.”

He obliges, his thrusts becoming quicker and rougher, pounding you into the bed. His hands are on your thighs, bringing you closer with every pump and every quiver. You become a mess beneath him, moaning, whimpering, panting. 

He’s still crying, but it’s a little difficult to notice between his ragged breaths, or the slapping and colliding of wet skin. 

     “ _Fuck_ \- f-faster,” you screw your eyes shut, biting his shoulder. There’s a feeble emblem of pain, of your teeth sinking into his skin, yet it only fuels his desire. 

     “P-Peter,” you spasm, his name on your lips feral. You can feel it. It’s almost there. By the way his body jerks suddenly, you know it’s the same for him. “I’m close.” 

He doesn’t reply verbally. Instead, he delves to the deepest and weakest parts inside of you as if his sole purpose is to aid you in riding out your orgasm before doing so himself. When you come undone, he follows quickly behind, releasing himself inside of you with every ounce of affection and yearning. 

He collapses against you and you cradle his head against your heaving chest, running your nimble fingers through his damp hair, immersing yourself in his scent and warmth. Reality drags you back down, but it doesn’t scare you this time. In fact, you know everything will be okay. 


	15. [Heavenward]; | Peter B. Parker

You hum along to a distant, imaginary tune and lose yourself within the pure unadulterated bliss that is Peter’s lips. They leave open-mouthed smooches across your bare back, the bulk of his weight pressing only slightly into you. 

He is undeniably  _soft_. His lips even more so as they begin their journey on marking you, creating little love bites across the expanse of your back. You swoon, your back arching in response to his overwhelming resurgence. 

     “Keep humming,” he murmurs against your skin, voice breathless and hot and you oblige  _instantaneously_. 

His hands reach around and creep underneath the very thin silky sheet that shields you, immediately cupping your breasts into each of his hands. He smooths the pads of his thumbs over your nipples, now fully aware of how much of an effect his gentle love-making had on you. 

You refrain from letting a moan of pleasure slip free, yet the second attempt isn’t as efficient as it had been the first time. The unsubtle interruption of your vocalized compulsion pulsates throughout the room, echoes off the walls; your euphoria is loud and uncontrolled. You try to keep yourself together, to not crumble at his touch, but as soon as the thought evaporates in your mind, your head falls back against his chest. 

He really knows how to multitask. 

As if he read your mind, his hands leave your plump breasts and navigate downward. His lips have migrated over to the area below your earlobe, a sweet-spot of yours, one you instantly regret revealing to him because now he has you at his mercy, in the palm of his hands.

     “Let me make you feel good,” he whispers lowly and roughly, darting his tongue out, sliding it over your slick skin. He feels your body curve into his, and continues to tease you thoroughly, letting his fingers skim between the folds of your pussy. 

You shudder, trying to find something to grip onto in blind frenzy of desire. Your fingers curl around the sheets, knuckles turning white when he uses his index and middle fingers to gently spread you open. He dips one finger in and then pulls it out, leaving you panting, withering, begging. 

     “You’re already so wet,” he says, becoming more aroused when he gets a sniff of your own arousal. You whimper and he pulls you flush against him so he can touch more of you. “Do you want more?” 

     “Yes,” you moan. “Oh  _God_ , yes.” 

      “How badly do you want it?” He adds another finger and you go taut; inhaling, toes curling, clutching desperately onto the sheets. 

     “I want it so bad, Pete.  _Please_ , I want it bad.” 

He eases his fingers inside of you, playing with your clit, soaking the sheets below you. He can feel you on the verge of coming undone, of letting it all go, but he wants to continue to tease you. With his other hand, he reaches up and tugs on your nipple, emitting a gasp from you. 

He multitasks between pumping his fingers in and out of you, and fondling with your breast, and you are a complete, chaotic and withering mess for him. This is all because of him and the thought only satisfies his ego, persuading himself to keep at the slow, agonizing pace. 

Deciding to change positions, he leans back fully so his head is plush on the pillow behind him, and your head is on his chest. He brings his hand that was on your breasts over to spread your legs further apart, and then with as much fragility the man can muster, he carries on until he can feel you unravel at his fingertips.  _Literally_. 

You don’t give him a warning, your release is spontaneous and sudden. He can smell your climax all over his fingers before he can hear your arousing mewls of utter bliss. 

Your moans are like music to his ears. 

Afterwards, he turns you around and folds you into him. You can see the smugness in those damn brown eyes of his, but don’t have any intention on boosting his ego. “What was that for?” You inquire, leaning your chin on his chest and watching the stars in his eyes beam brighter. 

     “What can I say. I really like hearing you sing.” 

You quirk a brow, the corners of your lips lifting, “My singing turns you on?” 

     “That’s not the only thing, but yes.” He surrenders lightly, pressing a soft kiss to the temple of your head. His lips linger there for a minute, and you take this time to listen for the sound of his heart. It’s steady, mellow; his heart is most definitely the only mellow thing about him sometimes. 

     “Well,” you press your cheek to his chest, the sound of his heart luring you into the first stages of a peaceful slumber. “I’ll make sure to keep that in mind next time.” 

He smiles and relaxes underneath you, your heart now in sync with the ever-so-pleasant  _thump thump thump_  of his own. "I’m sure you will.” 

Then he tells you he loves you and falls asleep shortly after you do, keeping your body on top of his throughout the night. 


	16. meu mundo | Miles Morales

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just pure fluff :'))

It was silent. 

Sometimes you didn’t like the silence, but in this very moment, you were grateful for it. 

You managed to look anywhere but into his awaiting brown eyes, the ones you found yourself metaphorically kneeling under on several occasions. Even as the thick tension filled the air around you, suffocated you, barricaded you, you would have given into the devotion they held for you, the pure, unadulterated desperation. 

     “Are you gonna say anything?” His voice cracked, although there were no tears. He was merely nervous. 

You dabbed lightly at the small cut underneath his cheekbone, inhaling sharply when he winced from the sting it provoked. “You’re Spider-Man,” you whispered, retrieving the antiseptic and proceeding to clean his wounds as gentle as you could. “It doesn’t change anything Miles. You’ll still be my best friend.”

He went quiet, his face morphing into a softer and calmer elation. Your words certainly had an effect on him, no doubt bringing the poor boy to the obvious conclusion that he had yet - without meaning to - fell even more harder in love with you in that very moment of friendly affection. It was deep, overbearing, something to be treasured limitlessly. 

     “You mean that?” He whispered, awe lacing possibly every inch of his words. 

Your hand froze in mid-air, slightly soaked cloth barely touching that of Miles’ cheek beneath your fingertips. A small unwavering grin danced across your lips and you nodded, summoning every ounce of sincerity within you just to show him you weren’t faking it - this undefiled affection. 

He let out a relieved sigh, eyes closing before reopening and catching your darting glance. “I thought you’d be upset.” 

     “I couldn’t be - never with you,” you murmured, tongue sticking out afterwards in attempt to finish with the minuscule wounds on his cheek and chin. When you finished, you reached over and grabbed the tiny white bandage, enough to fit three of them over the smaller injuries. “And voila!” 

You pulled back and encouraged Miles to feel around his face, admiring your handiwork with an unsubtle lovestruck smile upon his face. He thanked you and you refused to accept it, reminding him that it was your job to watch over him and pick him right back up. It only made the butterflies in his stomach multiple in return, corrupting him nervous and thoughts - as if that wasn’t a problem for him in the first place. 

You wandered over to his trash can and dumped the supplies into it and with a quick  _clink_. Turning around you decided that standing your ground in the spot you occupied would be the best idea for you because you could see the way he was looking at you. It wasn’t an expression you were unfamiliar with, one you hadn’t seen so many times before because you had - you’d seen that look before. This specific look was the one of a total moron in love. 

You knew that look because you used it so many times on him, although you were stealthier about it, unlike your best friend. You waited until he was either leaving a room you were in or when he wasn’t look - not even his Spidey senses could feel your eyes on him. 

     “What?” It was an involuntary reaction, a question you’d ask until the day you died. Sometimes your mouth had a mind of its own, you’d never be able to diminish the words from slipping through. 

He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, and then shifted on his bed. “Have I ever told you how amazing you are?” A goofy expression ghosted over his features, creating a faint glow to his cheeks. He looked ethereal sitting there while the radiance from the pale moonlight peeked through the dusty curtains, reflecting off his skin. “Because if I haven’t then it only feels right to remind you.” 

Your heart sputtered in your chest and you fidgeted with your fingers, cheeks glowing brighter than that of a thousand suns. “You have told me,” the words left your mouth in a whispered daze, rendering you the epitome of luminosity, a shining pebble in a puddle of mud. “But I like hearing it.” 

His eyes widened only a fraction at your sudden confession, “Really?” You nodded, cowering away shyly, and he was done for. He stood up from his bed and walked over to you, mustering that confidence he always lacked and then softly brought his hands up to cup your cheeks. Without really thinking, he leaned his forehead on yours and your breath caught. He could tell. “You’re amazing (Name) (Last name).” 

And with that remaining courage, he pressed his lips to yours in a searing kiss. No doubt leaving you completely vulnerable. 


	17. [Parental Mayhem] | Peter B. Parker

“How about this one?” 

You turn away from the pacifiers, eyes finding your husband as he holds up a ridiculous outfit that reads:  _My Dad Is A Superhero_. An involuntary giggle bursts past your lips and you playfully scold at him, “Way to be subtle about your secret identity, Pete.” 

He pouts and your heart soars at the sight, “Oh, c’mon! Little Mary would look so cute in this,” his face puckers as he attempts to bring forth the inner childish side of him. 

You have to snort at that, “I think you mean Little Richard,” you cross your arms over your chest, but since your belly is about the size of two basketballs, your forearms end up resting over it gently. 

     “How do you know for sure that it’s going to be a  _‘him’_?” He enunciates his words, bringing his hands up to animate his imperative dilemma. 

     “Because I just know -” you glare, but your face softens when you look down at your swollen tummy, giving it a motherly stroke. You look back up to find that your husband completely forgot about your small argument, and is now leaning on one of the clothing racks, face clouded by a blissful haze, seemingly not worried about the outcomes. “It’s going to be a boy.” 

You glow and suddenly Peter’s worries vanish. 

He walks over to you, having already set the outfit back down, and gives you a long and ardent smooch, loving the way you tasted. “I don’t care - as long as we have a baby together, that’s all that matters.” 

~

It’s in the middle of the night when Peter feels a sharp tingle burst through his entire body - it’s alarming to say the least. 

Your voice is the next thing he hears; it echoes through his ears and causes his heart to drop to the lowest part of his body. He sits up, eyes locking on you, heart beating a million miles per second. “What - Is it - is it the -?”

     “Baby - we’re having a baby,” you mumble with wide eyes, glued to your spot after feeling your water break. It soaks the sheets below you, yet you’re in a state of panic - it’s numbing, but you know that it’ll sink in soon. 

He stares at you and suddenly he feels warm all over, face utterly gentle. 

You snap, “Right now, Pete - we’re having the baby right now!” 

     “We’re having a baby!” He shouts, his voice oddly high pitch. The excitement is suppressed, yet it causes him to fall off the edge of the bed, his back colliding to the floor. 

He jumps up milliseconds later, hair disheleved. Before he can fully let all of that eager joy free, he forces himself to grab the over-night duffle, heart skipping a beat when you heave yourself off the bed, following after him. 

     “Let me carry you -”

You glare daggers at him, he gulps. “Peter Benjamin Parker, you go start the car  _right now_.” 

     “Right. On it.” 

~

When you reach the hospital, you’re in too much pain to worry about your husband’s frantic movements beside you. He keeps asking if you’re okay and all you manage to do is give him disgruntled moans through clenched teeth. 

Your face glistens with sweat by the time a nurse rushes over to sit you down on a wheelchair. Peter never lets go of your hand, and lord knows he wants to - even with his high pain tolerance you still have the power to make him cringe from how tightly you curl your fingers around his. 

And he’s right there with you as you lay on the delivery table, still holding your hand, forehead pressed to the temple of your sweaty one. Your mewls of pain strike at his heart more than once, but he can’t help in noticing how raw your beauty is, and especially in this moment you’re twice as enchanting. 

     “I want this damn baby out of me!” Your head flies back onto the soft cushion of the pillow, your legs feeling weak from how long you’ve had them arched and up. You breathe out roughly, feeling the pain strengthen and prompt you to moan in agony. “Fuck - this  _hurts_!” 

The nurses and doctor all chuckle around you, “Just one more push, Mrs. Parker.” 

     “You said that five pushes ago!” 

Your doctor lets out a soft laugh, Peter squeezes your hand. “You can do it, sweetheart. C’mon, I know you can.” 

Your face twists and you whine childishly, the sound hoarse from how loud you’d been screaming. “I blame you, Peter Parker. You did this to me - ah!” You squeeze your eyes shut and you shake your head, letting out a mix between a laugh and a groan, “I’ll hold it in. I don’t care.” 

     “You’re getting our baby out of you whether you like it or not.” He laughs and you scowl over at him. He feels something stab at his heart and realizes that he never liked seeing you in pain which is why he hates seeing you in pain now, when it’s supposed to be a beautiful moment. 

     “ _Fine!_ ” You grumble, forcing yourself up on your elbows, giving the doctor a weak thumbs up before taking a deep breath and then exhaling. 

And by the end of it all, you realize that every intensity of pain that filled you to the core was all worth it. 

You find yourself staring down at your newborn baby boy, “Hello, Richard Jr.” You coo, eyes immediately filling to the brim with tears of immense joy, too much happiness consumes you and you want to let it all out, but Peter is fast asleep on the chair next to your bed and he looks really peaceful. You don’t have it in you to disturb his slumber. 

     “You know, your father thought you were going to be a baby girl,” you give a dramatic roll of your eyes, glancing down at where his little chubby hand is wrapped around your index finger, squeezing and releasing then repeating the gesture. 

Richard Jr’s eyes flutter as you continue to rock him back and forth carefully, feeling your heart flutter with awe at the ethereal sight of him in your arms. “I knew you were going to be a boy - I could sense you,” you giggle and then sniffle, “Oh my, you’re so beautiful. How did I make something so beautiful - this is nuts.” 

     “How did  _we_  make something so beautiful, I think is what you meant.” 

You look over to the source of the voice, smiling cheekily at your awe-struck husband. “Right, sorry.” Your cheeks heat up from embarrassment, and you crinkle your nose at him before glancing down at your blubbering bundle of joy. “Hey, thanks for that, by the way.” You muse, side-eyeing him. In your peripherals, you watch his head tilt to the side. “I got to meet the second most beautiful creature in this universe.” 

He scoots closer to you, leaning his cheek on your arm while watching your son with a childlike wonder. He yawns after humming in reply to your statement, “Yeah? And what’s the first?” 

     “You.”


	18. [Interrupted] | Peter B. Parker

He shoves you up against the wall behind you, emitting a huff past your lips. His lips are on the sensitive skin on your neck within seconds and you don’t have to truly process it until he begins to suck and nip. 

     “We’re supposed to be picking up -  _ah_  - Miles, Pete. What if we get caught?” It’s breathless upon your lips, but his pleasure making is too difficult to ignore or not fully take in. 

His breath is hot on your neck, “Who’s gonna walk into the janitor’s closet, (Name)?” He grunts, hiking your leg up his side and giving your thigh a good tender squeeze. You moan and before you can protest, his lips are locked with yours once again. He really knows how to shut you up. 

He tugs and nibbles on your bottom lip and you pant, hands pulling on his cheeks in the most sloppy way your pleasure-induced mind can muster. Everything within you screams to have him inside you, and the fact that you’re in the most untimely place to do so makes you all the more aroused. 

You reach for his belt buckle, and with your super strength you manage to break it - on accident. You blame your fiance’s persistency. 

He groans into your mouth, tongue exploring the inside, mingling with your own needy tongue. 

Almost there. 

One more tug and his pants are free. 

Just… One… More…

     “OH MY GOD!”

You screech and suddenly everything - every little ounce of pleasure, every little spur of confidence that came with your sinful acts - vanishes within a matter of seconds. 

Immediately, you push Peter away - and a little too roughly - but you know he can handle the rather harsh shove. You turn around and blink, eyes squinted as you find the source of your interruption. 

Peter scrambles to pull his pants back up, and hold them together since you desecrated his belt. He gulps, side-eyeing you and then glances back at the intruder. “M-Miles? What - What are you, uh, doing here?” 

     “You’re in my school’s janitor closet?! Seriously?!” 

Oh, this boy is going to be scarred for life. 


	19. [Show Me] | Peter B. Parker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey there's gonna be more smut ahead you have been warned

Seeing this side to Peter - your best friend - is something that takes you by a complete surprise. Sure, his more than average super strength is a dead give away because of what he can do didn’t come as much of a surprise, but the way he handles you sure did the damn trick. 

     “I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever even met that asshole,” he grunts against your heating core, tongue quickly darting in and out of you. 

You gasp and clutch the sheets below you, screwing your eyes shut in order to control your nerves. On the outside, you are a somewhat functioning human - sure you’re being eaten out by your best friend, but you’re still functioning.  _On the outside_. On the inside? Well, you’re an utter wreck; screaming, mumbling profanities, imagining what it feels like to have him inside of you. 

     “P-Pete-”

He grunts and yanks your thighs closer so his face is pressed even further inside of you. You can feel his tongue taking control, deeming you his with a greedy flick of his tongue - the action almost beyond sinful and chaotic. 

You whimper pathetically, “I - I want you inside me!” 

     “As you wish,” he grunts and before you can even comprehend anything, the man is inside of you. His shaft somewhere deep inside of you that you’re seeing the fucking galaxy and all of its stars. 

_Holy shit._


	20. [Encouraging & Pleasurable] | Peter B. Parker

He tells you he wants to make you feel better - he wants to love you and make you forget about all of the things you aren’t so sure about anymore. That’s enough to have to reeling because that was not even an hour ago, and now you’re lying on your back while his lips are scouring your stomach, leaving little marks, praising you, muttering beautiful things and making you feel like a million dollars. 

     “How does this feel?” And suddenly his are on the inside of your thigh, right next to your soaked panties. 

You only moan, words escaping you in this sinful moment of pure bliss. Your hands are stretches out on either side of you, gripping anything you can, anything you can find with a blind faith. 

His lips, his sinful, overpowering, overbearing lips press on the wet spot by the wet spot on your panties and you gasp, screwing your eyes tight. “Oh, fuck-”

     “More?” You can practically hear the smugness in his voice, and if he weren’t pleasuring you so goddamn well then you might’ve rolled your eyes or maybe even scoffed a little. 

     “Yes -  _God_ , yes please.”

He obliges with your plea and slowly pulls down your panties, spreading your legs apart. Before you can blink, the man has his tongue inside of you, and you are done for. 


	21. [Relaxation Time] | Peter B. Parker

It’s when he gives you that look you know that it’s time to hurry to the bedroom. You don’t waist anytime in stripping down to your panties and bra and then sliding yourself underneath the blankets - hoping to surprise him. 

He walks in right as you get comfortable, wearing that damn smirk on his face. “Kids are finally asleep,” he waggles his brows. “You know what  _that_  means.” 

And  _oh boy_  you really do. 

He takes off his shirt, showing off the recently impact of his daily training and saunters over to the bed, kicking his pants off in the process. You ushers him beneath the blankets and he lets out a noise of appreciation at your half naked body. 

You left the rest of it on for him to take off himself - he always loved doing that part. 

You throw yourself on top of him, hands pressed to his muscle corded chest, it feels absolutely blissful. You can already feel yourself getting wet just because of the sight of him beneath you all vulnerable. 

     “I thought it was my turn to be on top?” He pouts and you chuckle.

Instead of giving him an actual answer, you lean down at start trailing kisses down his jaw, his collarbones, his chest, nipping and sucking. He grows aroused instantly and you smirk, ‘ _still got it_ ’. You position yourself up and pull down his boxers so he is fully revealed and hard - really hard. 

He reaches up and unclips your bra, breasts springing free from their cage and then shimmies you out of your panties. You shift so your properly hovering over him and slowly lower yourself down, inhaling sharply, growing more aroused when he grips your thighs and digs the back of his head back into the pillow behind him, eyes screwing shut in the process. 

He bucks his hips without control over it and you spasm, throwing your hands over the bed post ahead of you. You fuck him slow at first and moan every time he loses himself inside of you, bucking his hips every time you press down further. 

The bed rocks, squeaks softly against the restraint. 

He grabs your breasts as they jiggle and bounce teasingly in front of his face, pinching them and bringing them into his mouth, pleasuring them with everything he has. This provokes you to fuck him faster, the only sounds filling the air are of your synchronized moans and grunts and skin slapping against skin. 

And then you both lose yourself for the first time during that week. 


	22. [Cheesy] | Peter B. Parker

“Is there an airport nearby or is it my heart taking off?”

You have to refrain from laughing at the absurdity - the cheesiness is just too heartwarming, but it’s entirely too unlike your fiance to try and seduce you with cheesy pick-up lines. This is a side of him you deem your favorite. 

You don’t bother in look up from your magazine. In fact, you don’t look anywhere but at it because you’re sure that if you do it now, you’ll be done for. 

     “Kiss me if I’m wrong, but dinosaurs still exist, right?” So far, it’s the best one yet - you have troubles keeping the giggles inside. Once one slips, his elation is practically radiating off of him and before you can look up, you feel a slight pressure on your cheek. 

Turning your head to the right, you catch sight of the source of your laughter, the culprit, the man of the hour. He grins foolishly at you - the one that turns your insides to mush and causes your toes to curl all at the same time - having perched himself on the cushion next to you. “You laughed,” he announces goofily, eyes twinkling - the stars in his eyes are difficult to ignore. “ _You laughed_.” 

The singsong of his voice causes you to laugh twice as hard, this time doubling over in your spot and covering your face with your hands to veil the overwhelming happiness he brings to you. 

     “Excuse me, but you owe me a kiss, Future Mrs. Parker.” 

     “Not a chance, Bug-Boy.” You shake your head, face still hidden behind your hands, feeling the cool metal of your engagement ring touch and brush across your skin.

He huffs from beside you and you can already picture the pout growing across his lips, despite the joy still lingering in his eyes. 

Silence. He nuzzles his nose across a part of your cheek you hadn’t covered with great affection, and then discretely pecks your hand, lips warm. You shudder and he notices because you feel him freeze in his spot, no doubt putting two and two together. 

     “Challenge accepted, sweetheart.  _Challenge accepted,_ ” he croons before you feel a warmth touch the crook of your neck, taking your weak spot between his lips and sucking softly. 

You hum in delight, hands wavering, threatening to fall away and give in. But you don’t - at least not yet. 

He does it again and again and then moves over to your cheek, eventually moving your hands out of the way so he could capture your lips with his. You don’t open your eyes, you keep them closed, knowing that you’d find him smirking in all his smugness glory. 

Peter B. Parker is your weakness and you are and forever will be at his mercy. 

The area between your thighs grows hot and you feel the beginning of your arousal confiscate your dire need to stay calm. You wrap your arms around Peter’s neck and pull him closer to you. He throws the magazine off your lap and onto the floor, but you don’t mind, only giving in and moaning when he wraps your legs around him, prompting you to press against his growing excitement. 

Your back collides gently onto the couch below you, causing a warmth to erupt throughout your entire body. You bring your hands over to his sweats and push them down, immediately going to stroke his shaft. 

In retaliation, he groans into your mouth, almost panting. 

     “Are- Are you sure?” He mutters in between kisses, lips lingering on your lips when you manage to stroke a certain spot. His body stiffens and you nod, that being the only reply you can give him in that moment. “I need a verbal answer, (Name).” 

You yank his boxers down in one swift movement, your superhero strength getting the best of the situation, “Mmm Hmm -  _yeah_ ,” your hand finds his boner and you stroke it faster yet soft at the same time, prompting him to realize that you really needed him inside you. 

He pulls away and you open your eyes, finding that he’s staring down at you with a dark lustful and endearing gaze. It’s chill inducing, you come to know. “Okay,” he gives you one last peck and then reaches for the hem of one of the t-shirts you stole from him that morning. His hands curl around the waistline of your panties and he gives them a gentle tug, then carefully pulls them past your ankles and fully off of you, scattered onto the hardwood floors of your apartment. Before he can continue, he makes sure that his shirt if also off because he knows that you like watching the muscles flex with each thrust. 

A surge of desperate desire corrupts you, and you whimper, wrapping your thighs around his waist and pulling him down by the collar of his tank-top. Your hands rest on his broad shoulders, watching in awe as they flex underneath your fingertips. 

 _God_ , he’s so beautiful. 

     “Tell me you love me,” he teases, pressing the tip of his shaft at your wet entrance. Pre-cum dances across the folds of your pussy and you buck your hips. He pulls away quickly, lips quirking upwards. “Ah-ah.” 

     “I love you - you know I love you, Peter. I love you -  _mm_  - so much.” 

And with that he lowers himself inside you, emitting moans from each of you - each in synchronization with the other. It’s a beautiful sound, something of a melody. 

     “ _Shit_ -” he grunts through clenched teeth, hips bucking into you. 

Through the haze of sinful and sexual desires, you reach around and sink your nails into his back. The action - no doubt - creating welts into his skin. It doesn’t bother him, he tells you that it turns him on more. You came to find that it’s one of his many sexual kinks. 

Slap!

Slap!

Slap!

You can feel his balls slapping against your skin, and you fall even deeper into this hypnotic bout of pleasure. You look down to where his shaft is pushed into you and you moan at the deliriously intoxicating sight. 

     “Faster, Peter!” You cry and he obliges immediately, steadying you around him before pounding and thrusting deeper and quicker. 

     “I love you, I love you, I love you - oh  _God_ -” he grunts louder, the sounds mixing in with your pornographic mewls. He climaxes inside of you, yet doesn’t rest until he knows your release is close. 

He likes to watch you during this time, watching as your climax builds and builds, and he loves the vibrations your body makes when you do. 

Soon, after you’re both naked and wrapped up in a cocoon of tender affection, breathing heavily. 

     “Boom. You’re pregnant now.” 

And there’s always that one sentence that turns the fluffy moment into a humorous one. 


	23. [Lingerie] | Peter B. Parker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is w/ a chubby!reader

“Oh…  _wow_. I-”

You shy away while your heart drops down to your stomach and your cheeks heat up from embarrassment. “You don’t like it.” 

He jumps up from his spot at the foot of the bed, eyes wide and filled with panic. “No! I love it! I-” his eyes roam your body, and he gulps. “I really,  _really_  love it.” 

Your hand freezes halfway through trying to pull the hem of the red lace, tight fitting nightgown. It’s see through, so the fact that you’re only trying to cover up your thighs is inconvenient to the other half naked parts of your body. 

Peter notices your malaise and walks over to you, tilting your chin up so you are eye-to-eye with him. “Don’t hide from me,” he pouts, slyly bringing his arm around your waist and curling you into him with a gentle hunger. “I love how you look and you should too.” 

Your cheeks heat up even more, although you wish you could feel the way Peter does about your body - at least all the time. You could feel good about yourself on certain occasions and today is Valentine’s Day; one of the most sexiest holidays of the year. 

You  _need_  to feel confident. 

     “I love you,” a grin stretches across your cheeks and you yank him down to your level, crashing your lips to his in a state of blossoming desire. An almost inaudible  _‘oof’_  flies past his lips from the exertion of your powerful tug, but he eases into the kiss nonetheless. 

You let out a squeal when he picks you up, instantly wrapping your thighs around his waist in the process. He brings you over to the bed and lays you down slowly - you drop your arms, carding your fingers through his ruffled hair as he presses kisses along your chest and then lower and lower until he reaches your thighs. 

You give him hair a light tug and he groans, yet there’s a smirk lining his lips when he peeks up at you. “Someone’s eager.” 

     “Someone’s a tease.” You scoff, rolling your eyes. 

His eyes soften along with his entire face and he smiles, “Happy Valentine’s Day, (Name).”


	24. [Lazy Sundays] | Peter B. Parker

“Peter!” You shove his cheek with the palm of your hand, a shit-eating grin on his face. A giggle flees from your lips, “I’m trying to  _read_ , you buffoon!” 

He pouts, the expression on his face adorable and too difficult to ignore. “But I want  _attention_.” It’s long and drawn out and you absolutely swoon at the tone of his voice. 

You roll your eyes, “We just got done having  _sex_ , Peter!” 

     “What can I say?” He waggles his brows suggestively, burrowing his face into your stomach. His next words come out muffled, “I have the sex drive of a madman.” 

     “No shit.” 

He lets out a burst of giggles against the sheet that is wrapped precariously around you, and snuggles his face deeper. He is the embodiment of devious with sneaky, prying yet gentle-as-can-be fingers as they dance around the margin of the silky sheet, pulling it down, yet he is not subtle with his actions. 

He doesn’t want to be. 

Your breath hitches when he presses his lips to the side of your exposed breast, and then he brings your hardening nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue over it. 

Arousal is imminent. 

You feel the heat between your bare thighs, and lay the book down, not bothered when it falls off the side of the bed, clattering to the floor. 

He cups your breast and gives it a gentle squeeze, looking up at you while your nipple becomes devoured by his tongue. Your head is tilted back and your letting out quiet moans, some followed by a whine. He grows hard at your pleasure, loving the way you sound when he touches you, loves you. 

     “Tell me to stop.” He whispers huskily around your nipple, bringing his other hand down beneath the sheets to touch you teasingly. He spreads open your folds and dips one finger into you, playing with your clit. Your straight up pornographic moans fill his ears and he has an urge to stroke his growing cock. 

     “Don’t you dare stop.” 

And so he doesn’t. 


	25. Tether (Part 3) | Peter B. Parker//(Slight) RIPeter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEYO! I promised a last and final part to Serendipity and Collide, didn't I? Well, here ya have it. I hope you enjoy. And I am sorry for any further mental damages. :) Please don't sue me.

“I don’t know, Miles…”

“Stop being a pussy and do it, Peter.” 

He scolded, the low and warning baritone of his voice penetrating, “ _Language_.” 

“Alright, Captain America, look—” he sighed, “(Name) will be here for a while, but  _you_  won’t.” 

And he knew it from the bottom of his heart. Even as he watched you greet your customers with that always shining, always welcoming grin stretched adorably across your cherubic cheeks. He couldn’t help it, he smiled. He missed that. 

He missed a lot of things about you and it did more soothing than aching. It trumped it, actually. 

He sighed; heavy and exhausted. “What if she doesn’t want to see me? She’ll freak out — I can feel it.” 

You strutted around your counter, eyes focused on a customer in particular. His heart sputtered — you looked beautiful today. Your lips were painted a soft pink, which made his heart go  _boom boom_   _boom_  in his chest. And a pink flowery collared blouse tucked neatly into a denim skirt which showed off your legs — that he caught himself staring a little too long at. 

Picturesque. In that moment, you were  _everything_. 

Miles’ bumped his shoulder into his mentor’s, eyes soft and discerning. “A leap of faith, man.” 

“Right.” Peter gave him a chuckle; warmhearted and light, and no matter how true his word rang, he couldn’t force his feet to move. Instead, he merely turned his head back to the shop and watched you be the best you have ever been. 

If he let it, your incandescence could lure him right into you and although he’d have no problem with it, he’d feel incomplete because deep down, he wasn’t anywhere near being as healed as you were. 

And that’s what hurt the most. 

He watched you walk with a bounce; you were finally happy. If he didn’t know any better, he’d even go as far and say that you were making your life better all for the outcome that you got to live it. The atmosphere that you surrounded yourself in was vastly different from the one he left you in. It was extremely obvious, so much that it physically made his heartache for you. 

It  _burned_. There was no way to put out the fire your presence alone had set off in his veins. 

He was a masochist when it came to you —  _any version of you_. 

You were the perfect replica of the one person he never thought he’d lose. Grief was there in all its ugliness and the more he stared at you,  _watched_  you, the more he began to realize that maybe this wasn’t the best place to be. Even despite every single bone in his body telling him that it was, that he could just take those extra steps forward and walk into that book store that you loved  _so much_. There was something holding him back. More like there was  _someone_ holding him back. 

He could still remember the look on your face when he parted ways with you the last time he saw you, the last time he was able to get a good look at what death discriminated from the light in your eyes. 

Somehow, there was a part of him that felt guilty for showing up at your house and asking for help because he knew you were still mourning — you hadn’t even been in the healing stages yet and he blindly let himself fall into that trap. 

The familiar jingle of the bell above the shop echoed through his ears and almost immediately, you had turned around, your skirt swaying as you did so, hair bouncing in the wake of your curiousness. 

Once your eyes met, and he swore he felt his heart stop, the world stopped spinning. 

There were no tears in your eyes as the book that you held clattered to the floor, no gut-wrenching frown that dotted your face as you began your slow trek towards him. 

All that laid bare was the obvious shimmer in your eyes. 

And it was all he needed to take those extra steps towards you, meet you halfway. 

“’Bout damn time you show up here.” It fell from your lips in a whispered awe, and the shimmering in your eyes danced with elation until it turned into an unbridled yearning. 

He parted his lips, beckoning the words he so desperately needed you to hear, but nothing came and he was left looking stupefied in all sense of the word. The expression of a deer caught in headlights was the only thing he could manage. 

And you knew he had so much to say. You knew and that was enough for him because you immediately reached for his hand and laced your fingers through his. “Let’s go get some coffee, yeah? You up for some coffee?” 

And you were so understanding in the way that you were. So perfectly capable of accepting what happened that all he felt for you in that moment was complete and utmost serenity. In its purest form. 

“How long are you here for?” You asked, peeking over the steaming cup of coffee with expectant, doe-like eyes.  

After the initial shock wore off, you succeeded in getting him to talk by letting go of his hand right as you walked into the shop from across the bookstore. Not that he particularly liked the idea of you letting go, but he knew it was the only way you’d be able to shake him from this momentary haze. 

He gave you a sorrowful expression, lips curving downward. Not long, he wanted to say, but the look on your face told him you already knew the answer to his question. 

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to catch me up then, won’t you?” 

“Catch up… right.” 

“Peter, is there something wrong?” You pondered worriedly, setting your cup down and reaching out for his hand. He immediately pulled away as if the contact of your skin burned him and his face blanched as a blanket of rejection obscured the stars in your eyes. 

You tilted your head to examine him in kind, “You’re acting strange.” 

Your dejection provoked something primal inside of him and— “You died.” 

“Oh,” your shoulders slumped and you had a look of confusion on your face until, and then pure horror, “ _Oh_. Oh my goodness, Peter! I’m so sorry!” You were out of your seat in the blink of an eye and right next to him. Hesitantly, you reached over and touched his arm, playing with fire, dousing the flames, just to see how far you’d get before he snapped. 

“Are you… Are you alright? I—” you screwed your eyes tight, looking up at his distant expression. He was staring blankly down at his hands, presumably where yours had previously been. “How did it happen?” 

“We got into another fight and she drove—” he stopped himself, voice cracking underneath the heaviness of grief. “I couldn’t reach the bridge in time…” He took a shaky breath and you prepared yourself for whatever he’d say next, leaning your forehead to his shoulder while rubbing his arm as gently as you could muster. “The car too deep into the water and by the time I got there, she…”

Pain erupted in the pit of your stomach and you tightened your hold on him, “Hey, don’t do that. I’ve got you, Peter.” You could feel him shudder in your embrace, shoulders heaving up and down as he tried to take control of the sudden and overwhelming sensations of grief. 

“How are you taking it?” You held onto him tighter, not knowing if that was the best way to go about things. Especially after he had lost someone close — impossibly close to his heart. 

You knew his pain; you had familiarized yourself with it —  _shared_  it. You’d never been closer to someone. 

“As slow and easy as I can.” He paused, “Considering.” 

At the raw melancholy in his voice, you scooted closer and snuggled into him, wrapping his arm over you so you could wrap yours around him. “I know you probably don’t want to hear this right now, but—”

“I’m going to be fine.” 

You smiled and looked up at him from your hunched over position, “Yeah. Exactly.” 

“And how are you?” 

“Me?” You chuckled, feeling heat consume your cheeks when he provided you with his full attention. It was like coming up for fresh air and suddenly you were falling in love all over again despite the many times you begged yourself not to. 

He remained quiet and watched you carefully as if he knew that there was this hidden jaggedness you didn’t want him to see. Because he knew that you weren’t fully healed yet even if you were glowing with radiance. He knew you and you weren’t his — he learned your ways without resentment, he flourished in your confidence, he monitored the way you moved, the bounce to your step, the little things you did that turned him into an absolute fucking pile of goo because you were just that charming. 

“I’ve been okay,” you admonished with that toe-curling grin on your face. 

But he didn’t look convinced. 

And neither did you. 

A heavy animalistic urge swept over him and he tentatively brushed the pad of his thumb over a fallen rivulet. 

“No, hey,” you pulled away and used both of your hands to wipe at your cheeks, giving him a reassuring smile as his face mirrored that of a wounded puppy dog. “I’m fine, Peter. It’s okay—” he touched your cheek and you moved your hand over his, holding him close. “I can still feel him around me,” you gave him a lenient, bitter-sweet grin, “It helps with the loneliness.” 

And it did. You felt your Peter’s presence all around you; in the air, as it swayed through the leaves on the trees, in your hair on breezy mornings. You felt him wrapped up in your blanket, curled into your pillow when all you could do was scream until you felt your lungs bleed with the abandonment he left behind. On the days that were a little too harder to live through, you felt him nearby. 

But somehow nowhere close enough. 

Even through the ghost of his fingertips as they brushed the hair out of your face or down the length of your back when it ached. 

He’d always be there;  _watching_. 

Peter tugged on the hem of your shirt, begging to reel you in. There was this ungodly force that settled within the pit of Peter’s stomach, within the strings and tethers of his heart, and it was to hold you. You felt the same. 

Your minds combined were calm chaos. 

He drew you into him, and you accepted the barrier of protection in kind this time. At that moment, all you knew was his safety. You knew nothing other than you were both hurting. 

And maybe, just maybe you’d be able to heal what time was unable to. 


End file.
